Masquerading as a Man with a Reason
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Sequel to White Silent People. Almost two years after Tim was shot in the head, and a year after he recovered, Tony is still struggling to accept the way his friend has changed, but a case requiring Tim's unique perspective has the potential to take away what Tim has achieved unless his friends can stop it. 23 chapters and an epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is a sequel to my _White Silent People. _In that story, Tim was shot in the head and ended up suffering from a rare mental disorder called Cotard's Delusion wherein he thought he was dead. This story follows the events in that story and so Tim doesn't act the same as he did. I do recommend you read _White Silent People_ first if you haven't because it's hard to describe the changes in Tim in brief. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or its characters. I'm merely playing with them for free. I'm not making money. I also don't own the lyrics to "Carry On, Wayward Son" by Kansas.

* * *

**Masquerading as a Man with a Reason  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

_Masquerading as a man with a reason  
__My charade is the event of the season  
__And if I claim to be a wise man, well  
__It surely means that I don't know  
_~ "Carry On, Wayward Son" by Kansas

**Chapter 1**

_One year after _White Silent People_..._

Sometimes, when he thought about it, Tony hated the way things were. He tried not to think about it very much because the way things were was a lot better than they could have been. Still...

He opened a door to a small, brightly-lit office. There wasn't much in it. A _really_ nice computer setup, a bookshelf with a few programming and coding books on it...plus a couple of strange additions like a collection of great speeches from history.

And there was a man sitting at the computer, working. He didn't give any indication that he'd heard the door open, and to be honest, he probably hadn't. Tony stifled a sigh and walked over. He touched the man on the shoulder.

"Hey, Tim."

No response.

It was one of _those_ days, then. Tony kept his hand on Tim's shoulder, but then reached out and turned off the monitor. Just the monitor.

Tim jumped, startled. He looked wildly around for a moment and then felt the hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked at Tony.

"Hi," Tony said. "You're into it, today."

Tim looked back at the monitor for a couple of seconds and then he sighed and nodded.

"Yeah. I guess so. What time is it?"

"Five-thirty. Time for dinner."

"Oh...where did the time go?"

"Where it always does."

"Yeah." Tim nodded in agreement. He had heard the underlying statement.

"You ready?"

"Yeah. You only turned off the monitor, right?"

"Of course."

Tim smiled, then, and for a moment, it was easy to forget how different he could be.

...until he noticed the scar on Tim's head, the place where he'd been shot, the wound that had come close to killing him, had left him temporarily convinced that he _was_ dead, and had changed his personality just enough that he sometimes seemed like a stranger. A stranger they were all getting to know, but still a stranger in some respects.

Tim turned back to the computer, flicked on the monitor, saved his work and then logged off. He stood up and looked at Tony expectantly.

"Let's go, McGee," Tony said.

Together, they left the office, met up with Ziva, Abby and Jimmy and then walked out of the building to get dinner. This had become a routine, in part because Tim functioned better with routines, but also because they didn't want to let him become isolated in that little office.

Time had led to improvements in Tim's status. He was more physically fit. He could follow conversations so long as there weren't too many other distractions. He made jokes, could talk with people, and was himself.

...but he wasn't a field agent and all signs pointed to that remaining the case. It just didn't look like he'd ever recover to the point that he could manage that again. He hadn't brought it up in months and neither had anyone else. The lingering trauma of being shot was only part of the issue. The major factor was that he just couldn't remain aware of his surroundings enough. If they were in a shootout situation, Tim would _not_ be able to keep track of everything around him. He would focus in on one thing, maybe two, and that would be to the exclusion of everything else.

The good thing about it was that Tim himself didn't seem overly bothered by the fact that he may never be back at his desk in the bullpen. Tony couldn't blame him. If one was afraid of being shot every time one picked up a gun, it would be hard to enjoy the occupation. Tim was still at NCIS. Vance had essentially _created_ a job for him to do. It was a job that needed doing, but everyone knew that Tim's job hadn't existed before. Vance had considered just transferring Tim down to Cybercrimes, but the other people down there found Tim hard to work with, and Tim would get aggravated by them. He couldn't be what he had been before, a person able to adjust to the idiosyncrasies of others. His own idiosyncrasies made it too difficult.

As they headed to a place to eat, Tony looked at Tim again. Every so often he tried to analyze how much Tim had changed, how much he was still the same.

...and, in reality, Tim was a lot the same. The differences weren't apparent all the time, and it wasn't like Tim was really a totally different person. As he'd settled into his position, he'd relaxed a lot more and that had, to everyone's surprise, helped him regain some of his old personality.

"Is there something on my face, Tony?" Tim asked.

Tony realized that Tim was staring at him with a quizzical expression...and it looked so _normal_.

"No. Sorry, Probie."

"That's okay," Tim said in a tone that let Tony know he was very aware of the trend of Tony's thoughts. They didn't talk about it really...but it was always there.

"Where are we going to go?" Ziva asked.

Tim looked like he wanted to back out, but he never had yet. He recognized, like they all did, that he would be far too likely to stay in that room all day long without realizing he had if he didn't get out with them. In addition, they all enjoyed their time together. It was just that there was usually a little bit of awkwardness initially.

"I don't care," Tim said. "Wherever."

They left the Yard and came to an intersection, starting to chat more. Jimmy was telling them about a story Ducky had been relating during the most recent autopsy. Tim was paying attention. Abby reached out and put her hand on Tim's arm. He looked at her and then at the light and stopped walking. He hadn't noticed the light while Jimmy was talking.

They were used to that. They decided to go to a little café about half a mile from the Yard. It was a bit longer walk, but it was good to get Tim _out_ of NCIS, and so they usually chose to walk unless the weather was bad.

"...and then, Dr. Mallard started to demonstrate the _tango_. I'm just glad he didn't choose to dance with me. He thinks that I should learn it and then use it to impress Breena...but I don't know why I'd have to. We're already married, and it hasn't even been a year! When I told him that..."

The light changed and Abby nudged Tim to walk. He hadn't noticed.

This was normal for them all now, but Tony had to admit that he noticed it a lot more than he wished he did. He wanted there to be some way for Tim to be completely how he used to be, but as time went on and he continued with the same challenges, it became more and more obvious that they would have to adjust to this different Tim. No one wanted to make a big deal out of it since Tim had struggled to accept these changes in himself for so long.

But still...

They got to the café and got a table. They always chose the quietest corner they could so that Tim didn't have to focus so much on on person at a time. He was much better, but in very busy places, his ability to follow conversations lessened. Too many stimuli.

The café wasn't too crowded as yet. Perfect. They ordered their meals and then started chatting.

"How long did it take you to break through those passwords on the Allen website?" Abby asked.

Tim took a breath and thought...because he just didn't pay attention to time, really. It was one of those things they were helping him with.

"About two minutes," he said finally.

"Two _minutes_?" Tony asked. "Man, I know that the FBI was working on it for two _hours_ before they handed it over to us, and that was an entire team, not just one person."

Tim shrugged. "It wasn't that hard, really. Just needed to see what they'd done before. It didn't work. So I did something else. It worked."

That was another difference in Tim. He wasn't worried about proving himself or getting attention for what he could do. It was just...something he did well.

"Yeah, and who else could have come up with what you did, Agent McGee?" Abby said with a grin.

Tim smiled back at her.

"Anyone else with a hole in his head," he said, gesturing at this scar.

They all laughed...and _that_ was a symbol of how far they'd come...that they could _all_ laugh at a joke about Tim's injury. Given the fact that Tim himself had made the joke...well, no one else probably would dare to make the joke themselves...not yet.

"So...has Gibbs stopped trying to get control of the case?" Tim asked. "Or is having me successful in getting in making it NCIS?"

"Oh, he's not giving up," Tony said with a grin. "...but the FBI isn't, either."

"Fornell has been in meetings with Vance and Vance has been in MTAC nearly all day," Ziva added. "It is turning into a regular grunge match."

Jimmy started laughing.

"What?" Ziva asked.

"Grudge match," Tim said. "Grunge is either dirt or else a genre of music popular in the 90s."

"...characterized by the unkemp band members," Jimmy added. "I don't think that Agent Fornell counts."

"And neither does Vance," Tim said.

Ziva laughed.

"No, you are right. Grudge match."

"Who's going to win?" Abby asked. "Is Vance going to be on Gibbs' side?"

"The Navy connection is...not exactly...clear," Tony said. "He's hoping that all our work is going to at least let us keep involved. Allen called _us_, not the FBI, before he was killed."

A large group of people came in, talking loudly. Tim's attention was pulled away from his friends and onto them. He stared for a few seconds and then his brow furrowed.

"What is it, Tim?" Abby asked.

"I've seen them before."

"They look like college students," Jimmy said with a smile. "You trolling college campuses?"

Tim barely reacted to the joke. "Not them. Behind them. Two men. I've seen them before."

"Where?"

"Don't know. Around. Somewhere..."

Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pulling his attention away from the group he didn't know and back to the people he'd come with. It was something that he had to practice, and he was getting better at it.

"Anyway...uh..." Tim paused, reconnecting with the previous conversation. "Since...Allen called NCIS, shouldn't that take precedence?"

Tony was relieved that Tim had been able to remember. It wasn't memory so much as connecting synapses again. Tim didn't get as frustrated about it, and if they didn't point it out, Tim was unlikely to notice it himself.

"Doesn't change the fact that Allen isn't part of the Navy and that there doesn't seem to be any Navy connection," Tony said.

"But you know Gibbs," Ziva said. "He will not accept that as an answer. There is _some_ reason that Allen called _us_, not the FBI."

Tim nodded.

Their food arrived which pulled Tim's attention away from the conversation again. He _could_ focus on both things at once if he had to, but when he was just hanging out, he didn't try as hard, and they didn't worry about it too much.

They were all used to it now.

The conversation was on hold for the moment. They shifted dishes around, laughing about the mix-ups, and then got to eating. For a few minutes, it was relatively quiet. They were all eating and enjoying their food. After that, they started talking again, but not about work. It was fun just to chat and enjoy time together. It was something they hadn't done as much before. Meals were taken more on the fly. One person was sent to grab the food and bring it back. That still happened when necessary, but with Tim no longer on the team, keeping up with him meant more effort. Tim had said that he didn't want to lose them as friends, and his explicit admission had led to them all evaluating the friendship that had always been based around the fact that they spent most of their time together. Once that was no longer the case, did they want to stay friends?

Yes.

They finished up and headed back to NCIS. As they walked on the sidewalk, Tim took a deep breath and looked up at the sky.

"Something exciting up there, Probie?" Tony asked.

Tim smiled. This was one of those moments when Tim seemed _really_ different.

"Not to you, Tony," he said. "Just to me."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Just the sky. That's all."

"Okay, then."

Jimmy stopped Tim from walking when they got to the intersection. Tim stopped easily, pulling his eyes from the sky and back to the road. They got back to NCIS a few minutes later. Tim went back up to his office. Tony and Ziva went back to their desks to wait upon the resolution to the FBI-NCIS bickering. Abby went down to her lab and Jimmy down to Autopsy.

Tony sat down at his desk and looked back up to where Tim's office was. As happened off and on, he suddenly felt pensive.

"Tony, what is wrong?" Ziva asked.

"Just...thinking."

"It is better than it could have been," she said. "He is still here. He is still a lot the same."

"Most of the time. Sometimes, I wonder how things look to him. I think there's something different in how he sees the world now."

Ziva smiled. "He has always seen the world differently from you, Tony. It is just more obvious now."

"Yeah...I guess."

...and there was work to do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat down at his desk. Before he went back to his work, he pulled open one of his drawers. It was a drawer that no one else opened. He didn't want anyone to know about this because he was almost positive they wouldn't understand...and he wasn't sure he could actually explain it. It was so clear to him but his view of the world was different from everyone else's now.

He took his gun out of the drawer. He probably shouldn't have it, but he did. He had taken it and hidden it in this drawer.

And now, he picked it up and pointed it at his own head. He stared at the barrel for a long moment...until he started shaking. Then, he quickly put it back in the drawer and hid it from view. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply until the shakes stopped.

Then, he opened his eyes, logged back on to his computer and got back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I don't like the way he was looking at me."

Two men. One calm and collected. He was the mastermind. He laid the plans. The other was panicky. He was _always_ a little panicky. It worked well because he wouldn't dare squeal but he also, because of his paranoia, occasionally pointed out genuine flaws. He wanted what they were going to get anyway.

"Chayce, you're always so worried. He's never shown the slightest reaction to us when he's seen us before."

"He recognized me, Mike! I'm sure he did. There was something weird about the way he was looking at me."

"He's the one we want."

"Why? Why do we need him? Why not just hire someone? We can get lists of people who would do it for not too much...if this is what we have to do."

"Because I keep my ears open and I've noticed things about him that no one else really seems to realize. First, he was shot in the head and he's still traumatized by it. Can't even shoot a gun without having some kind of a meltdown. That gives us an easy way of controlling him."

"How do you know _that_?"

"I have my sources. Second, you know the FBI has been ticked off at how easily he's doing work by himself that they can't do with a whole team of people. Something about how that bullet rearranged his brains and he's some kind of _wunderkind_ with computers now. The FBI would take him in a second if they could, but he doesn't want to leave NCIS and Director Vance isn't likely to let him go without a fight. We're just snatching him from the action...to help _us_."

"But he has friends! He's with them all the time!"

"Only during the day."

"He has a dog! And it's a big one!"

"Only at home. We just have to get him between home and work. He's not allowed to drive. We can tail him if we need to. He takes the Metro."

"Where will we put him? It's not like we can just keep him _here_."

"Why not? No one is using it right now. If we do this right, I think we can take him multiple times without anyone realizing it."

"What? Are you out of your mind? He'll tell them!"

"And will they believe him?"

The panicker paused and his brow furrowed.

"What do you mean? They're his friends. They work with him. Why wouldn't they believe him if he tells them that he was abducted?"

"If we make _him_ unsure of it, he might mention it, but they could easily assume that he's talking about a dream...and we could also threaten him...with a gun."

"You're way too sure about this. I don't like it!"

"I've been watching him..._and_ I've been watching them. They're still not sure of him all the time. If he came to them and said point-blank that he had been taken during the night, they'd believe him. Absolutely, but if we just make him afraid of it...he'll be afraid to say anything and even if he does, he'll be more likely to be tentative...because he'll be afraid of getting shot again."

"What if you're wrong?"

"We have a safety net. He won't know where he was at or who we are."

"Do you think they'll actually support us if it comes to that?"

"If we have results, you bet they will."

"And how long will it take for us to get results?"

"Do you remember that hacker the FBI was tracking a couple of months ago?"

"Sure. Everyone knows about that."

"Do you remember how many people they had on it?"

"A whole team. They worked for days."

"And then, what happened? They gave the case to Agent McGee...two hours later, they had a location. I shouldn't need to remind you how much they were fuming about it. He can do this and he can do it fast if he needs to...and we'll make him think he _does_ need to. We'll make him think that his life depends on it, and we'll make him think that even talking about it would be fatal."

"It won't _actually_ be fatal, will it?"

"Only if absolutely necessary. Once we're done with him, that's it...but we can't let him talk about us, either. It might be worth taking him one last time and leaving him someplace where he can be lost. He's not good with directions anymore."

"I don't like killing someone. It's bad karma...and it's not what we're supposed to be about."

"If we could go through regular channels, this wouldn't be an issue. We can't. So we're going through _irregular_ channels and that might mean that we have to get our hands dirty. If you want to be a cook, you have to break a few eggs."

"Is this guy really the only way to do this?"

"It's the only way we can be sure of success...if success is even possible."

"I don't like it."

"So noted."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_He stared across the lawn and saw the bullet as it came at him. He was frozen, unable to move to avoid it. Nothing he could do. It hit him. The world exploded and..._

Tim jolted awake, sat up and looked around, momentarily disoriented.

Jethro was beside him in a second, whining and licking at his face. It grounded him and reminded him where he was.

Home.

It was morning.

He'd had yet another nightmare.

"Good morning, Jethro," he said and then fell back to the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

As had been normal for him since being shot, or rather since recovering from being shot, there were small pockets of glittering matter in his view. He'd mentioned them to Dr. Khalid and he said that they were due to the scar tissue in his visual cortex. They'd probably never go away. Tim didn't mind. They moved around, showed him patterns that he'd never seen before. When he stared at a blank wall or a ceiling...or the empty sky, he could see them glittering there, a private show just for him, something he could enjoy. And it was something that seemed to guide his mind to the places he needed to go. He'd learned to look past the glitter when he was working, but sometimes, sometimes the glittering motes swirled in patterns the revealed the direction he needed to go when he was working. How could he ever explain something so beautiful and complex to anyone who didn't actually experience it? It was impossible; so he didn't bother trying. He didn't even mention it.

Still, he hated the nightmares. They always made him forget where he was...and who he was for a second when he woke up. Jethro always managed to help him remember. That contact from something outside of himself anchored him in the real world and kept him from slipping away.

He had never forgotten that feeling of being tilted and spun and flung off the world. When he first woke up in the morning, that feeling was incredibly pronounced and the couple of times that Jethro hadn't been there to ground him, he had felt completely lost...to the point that he'd actually had to call someone and have them help him remember where he was.

Everyone's phone numbers were in his phone and posted by the fridge. He had been told numerous times to call, day or night, if he had a problem. Thankfully, that hadn't been necessary very often, but it was good to know that he could...because Tim didn't want to give up his independence, but he knew that there were times when it was...not _dangerous_, exactly, but a little bit risky for him to be alone.

Jethro nudged at him again and whined a little, reminding him that he had responsibilities to perform. Quickly, Tim got up and headed for his closet to get his shoes. His morning shoes were first in the line. His work shoes were next. Then, he had his weekend shoes and his slippers. He needed the routine and the clarity of organization. In fact, his entire closet was obsessively organized. It helped.

He put on his shoes, grabbed the leash from Jethro's mouth, clipped it to his collar and led them outside into the world. As always, he was disoriented by the distractions all around him, but Jethro had become a kind of guide dog for him. He hadn't been trained for it, but the German shepherd was apparently smart enough to see when his master needed a bit of help. He never let Tim wander off the sidewalk until they got to the park. He never let him cross the street without the light (although they rarely walked anywhere that it was necessary). First thing in the morning, Tim was more easily distracted than any other time and he needed someone to keep him from losing his grip on the world.

Jethro did that for him. They now took care of each other, and Tim appreciated it.

After Jethro did his business, Tim went back to his apartment and went through his routine to get ready to go to work.

Work. It was so different for him now. Days passed for him in dollops, usually. Hours that he just didn't notice. He didn't mind it, but he remembered what his life had been like before and it was not at all the same. He knew he was really different than he had been, and he was grateful that his friends had accepted that...and that they were willing to work within the bounds his injury had set up.

And what strange bounds they were sometimes.

Tim got under the shower and as the water cascaded over him, he felt a growing sense of calm. For some reason, the sound and sensation of the water when he showered got rid of the vestiges of his nightmares, leaving him feeling almost normal. He didn't know why, but he was glad of it. It braced him for the commute to work on the Metro. When the disorientation was too much, he took a taxi, but he preferred taking the Metro because it was cheaper and because it showed that he could handle the world, that he didn't need to be completely isolated from it. Still, the dizzying stimuli of the buses, of the subway...sometimes, it took all his concentration just to make that trip. Some mornings, Ziva would just _happen_ to come by and she'd ride the Metro in with him. He liked that when it happened, but he didn't want it to happen all the time.

"Okay, Jethro...what am I forgetting?"

Jethro barked at him once.

"Oh, yeah. Breakfast. You need yours, too, don't you."

Jethro barked again, more excitedly. Tim smiled at his dog's antics and fed him. Then, he got some cereal out for himself and ate it. After that, he carefully washed the bowl, dried it and put it away again. Nothing out of place, everything controlled to the extent that he could.

Tim looked around the apartment, satisfied that it was ready for him to leave it. He looked at himself, made sure that he had his badge, his bag, his keys, his phone and his Metro card. Then, he left, ready to face the world again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The subway broke down on the way to work. Tim didn't like it when that happened, but he resigned himself to waiting...and decided to let himself look around at the other people on the train. He generally didn't do that because it was too distracting and he'd miss his stop...but he'd feel the jolt when the train started moving again.

So he started looking at people. He moderated his gaze so that it didn't bother them. He kept himself from lingering on some faces as he'd like to. Most of these people rode the same train every morning. They weren't always on the same car as Tim, but he saw them...just in passing, and he remembered them.

...like he remembered the man who was sitting halfway down the car from him, looking nervous. He had seen him...a lot. All over the place.

Tim's glance became a long gaze.

Yes, he had seen this man often. Not in NCIS itself. Other places, though. Around the Yard, on the subway, on the sidewalk. This man was in a lot of places Tim was also in.

The train jolted into motion again and Tim forced himself to fix his gaze on the top of the car so that he could listen to the voice telling him what stop was coming up next.

Finally, he heard it.

"_Navy Yard - Ballpark."_

That was it. He moved to the door, waited for them to open, got off and got himself out of the station as quickly as he could. Once out on the sidewalk, he started to walk. It was a short distance from the Yard entrance, but he wouldn't be outside for a long time and he needed to be out sometimes. So he generally made a point of walking from the Metro station to the Yard entrance.

He walked along until he got to the entrance and stepped in to show his ID.

"Morning, Agent McGee. Right on schedule. I think I could set my watch by you," the guard said.

Tim smiled. "Not today. I know I'm four minutes and twenty seconds later than usual. The Metro broke down."

"Which line?"

"Red line, of course."

"Of course."

The guard checked his ID, handed it back and Tim stepped aboard the Navy Yard. He was always glad to be here. It felt like a gift every time he realized how blessed he was to have even a small part of his former life.

He got to NCIS and stepped inside, knowing he wouldn't be out again until lunchtime, at the earliest.

"Good morning, Henry," he said.

"Running a little late this morning, Agent McGee?" the old security guard asked.

"Metro stopped."

"Ah. That explains it. See you later on."

Tim nodded and smiled. Henry always noticed when Tim was a little late or a little early. He didn't know why, but he appreciated that Henry was that astute...or that caring.

Tim took the stairs as he always did now and walked through the bullpen, bidding Tony and Ziva good morning before heading to his office. Some mornings he went down to see Abby first, but not today. Today, it was right to work.

...but when he got into his office, he pulled open the drawer and pulled out the gun.

He pointed it at his own head for as long as he could stand it and then quickly hid it away again.

...and then, it was time to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Three days later..._

The team went out on a call that occupied them all day. Abby knew that Tim wouldn't think to stop working if someone didn't remind him; so she decided to make sure she took a lunch and got Tim to take his as well.

She walked into his office. To her surprise, Tim wasn't working. He was reading from the book of speeches he kept on the shelf.

"Tim?" she asked.

Tim looked up and smiled.

"I finished the project Director Vance gave me. So I decided to read a little bit."

"What are you reading?"

"Sermons. I was just reading Saint Francis' sermon to the birds."

"Birds?"

Tim nodded.

"It's really short. I guess the birds didn't have a long attention span."

Abby laughed and sat down on the other chair in the office. Tim wasn't often doing anything other than working and it was nice to see him...relaxing to some degree. He finished reading the short sermon and then closed the book.

"Lunch?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Okay."

Tim got up and walked with Abby out of the building.

"I was thinking that we could go get some lunch and then eat in the park."

"You'll be outside. Can you handle that?" Tim asked.

"It's cloudy."

Tim looked up...and stared as he often did when he looked at the sky.

"I guess it is," he said, his voice slightly distant.

Abby knew that Tony was bothered by this behavior, but it seemed to be just a part of who Tim was now. So she let him look and kept her eye out for any obstacles in his path. After a few seconds of silence, Tim looked away from the sky and he seemed more pensive.

"Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I a freak?"

"What? Why would you ask that?"

"I heard some people talking," he said. "I know that I'm different because I can't do some of the things I could do before, but am I really a freak?"

"No! Who said that?" Abby asked, angry now.

"It doesn't matter who said it. I just want to know if it's true."

"It's not. Yes, you're different, but we all know that and we _have_ known it for a long time. Different doesn't mean freak," she said firmly.

"Okay."

Abby couldn't suppress a bit of a smile at Tim's easy agreement. She couldn't tell how much of that was because he just accepted what she said as true and how much was that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Either way, it was one of the things that was different about him.

They got a couple of sandwiches and then walked back to Willard Park. They ate in almost complete silence until Tim looked over toward the Barry where a small group was walking up the gangplank to take the tour.

"I've seen him before."

"Who?" Abby asked, turning.

"That man over there. He's on the subway sometimes when I ride it...and other places."

"Really? Is he following you?"

Tim shrugged. "He's just around when I am. I haven't seen him walking after me."

Which meant he probably wasn't. Tim seemed to notice details, but he also didn't really seem to think about which ones were important and which ones weren't. They were all details. There was a little more silence.

"Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm feeling weird today. Could you help me home after work?"

"On the Metro or just driving?"

Tim closed his eyes for a little while. Then, he opened them and looked at her.

"Driving, I think."

"Sure. If I have to stay late, I'll make sure someone else can. No worries. Is it bad?"

"No. Just weird...you know."

Abby nodded. She did, although she didn't really understand what it meant when Tim said he was feeling weird. He didn't ever elaborate beyond that the weirdness made it hard for him to manage the trip home alone. This was when Abby got worried. Tim lived alone, and there were times when it seemed like it probably wasn't a good idea for him to be alone...but how could she really suggest that he wasn't capable? ...and if he wasn't, what would he do?

"Do you have lots to do this afternoon?" she asked.

"No. Not really, but Vance asked me to do something different. Not sure why."

"What did he ask? Or is it classified?"

"Uh...he...didn't say it was classified. It's about the Allen site. I broke into it, but that doesn't tell us why he sent them to us."

"Does he think you can figure it out?"

"I guess. I don't know why he's asked me, but he wants me to talk with Ducky about it. So I guess I will. The stuff I can do, though...it's not about Allen himself. It's just the code. Living things...that's a lot harder. People are harder to figure out...like me."

Tim's expression became wistful. It was one of those moments when he seemed to really realize what he'd lost of himself, how _much_ he'd changed. They all chose to focus on who he was now and how much was the same, but sometimes, even Tim noticed the differences...regretted the loss.

"Abby...are you sorry?"

"For what?"

"That I'm here?"

"No. Absolutely not, Tim. Don't _ever_ think that I would be. Ever."

In a rare gesture, Tim took her hand and wove his fingers through hers. He looked at their hands.

"Sometimes...things are different. I know that Tony gets bothered by them. I know that you all get bothered by them, sometimes. I don't really...think about it a lot, but when I do...I know that it's different and that there's a reason you don't like it. I'm sorry. I wish I could change back, but I can't."

"It doesn't matter, Tim," Abby said, covering their clasped hands with hers. "It really doesn't matter. I am so glad you're here. I'm glad you're working at NCIS. I'm glad you're letting us be friends with you. I'm glad that you have your life. I'm glad about all those things. Are you happy?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?"

Tim looked up. "If being happy means being content with what I'm doing and the people I have around me, then, yes. Is that being happy?"

Abby cocked her head to the side. "Tim...don't you know what being happy is?"

"I used to. When I think about it, I can remember what it means, but now...here and now, in the present...is that being happy?"

This was new. No one had really thought about Tim losing that sense. How long had this been an issue? Or _was_ it an issue at all? Abby thought about it, and Tim let her. He wasn't pushing, wasn't rushing. He didn't seem discomfitted by the silence at all.

"Tim...when you come to NCIS, how do you feel? Do you want to be here?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"Why?"

"It's what I've always done before. It's...what I want."

"But why is it what you want?"

The space between Tim's eyebrows puckered a little as he considered her question.

"Well..._you're_ here...and so is Tony and Ziva and Jimmy and Ducky and...and even Gibbs...and Vance. My friends are here."

"You like being here?"

"Yes."

"You don't want to be anywhere else?"

"No."

"Well...I can't say for sure, since it's not me, but I think that sounds like you're happy. Maybe you just don't have the word for what you feel."

"Maybe not. When did I forget?"

"I don't know...but I don't think it's really about forgetting, more about getting the right label."

"Yeah...maybe."

For the first time in a while, Tim seemed bothered. Abby made a note to talk to Ducky about this. When it came to Tim's mental health, Ducky and Gibbs were the ones that could really get him talking about it...or get him to talk to someone else about it. It was harder with the others.

"Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to go in, now."

He stood up.

"Okay. Let's go."

They walked inside, but Abby was happy to note that Tim didn't let her hand go until he went up to his office. She headed down to Autopsy, hoping to grab Ducky before he went to his meeting with Tim.

She found him just getting ready to head up.

"Ducky?" she asked.

"What is it, Abigail? I'm supposed to meet with Timothy in a few moments."

"I know. Tim told me...but he told me something else."

"What is it?"

"We were having lunch and Tim said that he didn't know what it meant to be happy...like he'd forgotten what the word meant or something...and he really seemed bothered by it, like...like he'd realized what he'd lost for the first time, but it's been almost two years and...and this just seemed different."

"All right. I'll see if he's willing to talk about it after we finish our tasks."

"Thanks. Tim has been doing so well lately. I just don't want him to start thinking that there's something wrong with him."

"That will be hard to avoid when there are so many who feel that way," Ducky said. "...including, I might add, at least _one_ of his close friends."

Abby nodded. She knew that Tony was still struggling with it, but he kept it to himself, at least.

"I know, but...but this is different, Ducky."

"I agree, based on what you've said and I'll do my best to see what's going on."

Abby hugged him quickly.

"Thanks, Ducky."

"My pleasure."

Abby went back to her lab and got back to work, confident that Ducky would be able to do something to help.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky walked into Tim's office and smiled at Tim's current position. He was leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, one eye closed.

"Trying to get a different perspective, Timothy?"

Tim smiled.

"No. I've got that already," he said without shifting his gaze at all. "I'm trying to understand the perspective I have."

"A worthy pursuit."

Tim sat up and looked at Ducky.

"Director Vance wanted me to work with you on understanding Allen. I don't know why. Why do you think he wants me to do this?"

"Because you were able to get into his head and figure out what he did to protect his website."

"That wasn't him. That was just the Internet," Tim said. "I don't know anything about Allen. Sometimes, I can barely remember his name."

Ducky smiled.

"It's not about his name. It's about his ability."

"Well, he _wanted_ us to get in," Tim said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it was so easy."

"It wasn't so easy for the FBI."

"They were using a sledgehammer when all they needed was a nail file."

Ducky chuckled at the analogy. Tim smiled a little, too.

"Maybe that's why I could get in and they couldn't. Maybe he knew what they would do."

"In which case, he didn't _want_ the FBI to get to whatever he has."

"But why not?" Tim asked. "Do you think that he was worried about people at the FBI doing something wrong? That he found something...off?"

"Perhaps. We won't know until we get permission to continue our investigation."

Tim nodded.

"When will that happen?"

"I don't know. There is a lot of resistance from the FBI side, perhaps because of what you suggested."

Tim took a breath and looked around. Then, he leaned back again and stared at the ceiling.

"He knew what was he was doing. It wasn't an accident that he could do all that stuff. The passwords were layered and complicated, but once you figured out one, the rest just fell right into place. He figured on what they'd do. Maybe he didn't really want anyone in. Maybe he just wasn't ready for a person like me and what I can see."

"What _can_ you see?"

"Patterns. I see patterns now...not like I used to. I can't explain what I see, but I see it."

Ducky judged that this might be the moment to bring up Abby's concerns.

"Abigail indicated that you seemed a bit disturbed earlier."

"I was. It's okay."

"In what way?"

"I'm different, Ducky."

"Yes, you are. You've known that for quite some time."

Tim sat up.

"But I don't really..._feel_ the difference. I can see it but..."

"But now you do feel it?"

"I did. It's kind of gone now," Tim said. "There were people talking about me."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter. I heard them and I was upset. I can do things I couldn't do before, but I _can't _do things that I _could_ do before."

Tim looked around the office.

"This is who I am now. This place...and it's okay, but things are different and...I guess I was bothered by that feeling."

"And you're not now."

"Not really."

Ducky wasn't sure he believed Tim, but Tim wasn't putting off any air of concealment. He had admitted to being bothered and he now claimed he wasn't. Perhaps he really could throw it off that easily now.

"You should bring this up when you meet with your psychiatrist this week."

"Why?" Tim asked.

"Because it is something that could come up again."

"But it's okay."

Ducky smiled. "Yes, it is. Absolutely, but these are the kinds of things that you should mention."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am."

"Okay. I will."

Such simple agreement. There was a vein of simplicity in Tim's thought processes now. Even though there was much that was complicated, there was also much that was simple. Tim easily agreed with some things but he could be extremely upset about other things. This was the simple part. He agreed.

"Good. Now, let us proceed through this tangled web that is the link between the emotions and the computer."

"Okay."

Ducky smiled again and scooted his chair closer to Tim's desk and they got to work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tony walked into the bullpen feeling more than a little frustrated. Looking around all day for clues that just weren't there and then to come back to Vance saying that the FBI wasn't budging on taking over the Allen case. It wasn't settled yet, but the continual wrangling was irritating. Gibbs had already said that they'd still keep their eye on it and do what they could until the decision was made, but that wasn't enough for Tony.

He sat down at his desk and groaned.

"It is not that bad, Tony," Ziva said. "Vance is clearly not going to give in easily."

"We shouldn't have to give in at all!"

"I know, but we are still doing what we can."

"Yeah, I guess. Have you seen Tim today?"

"No. We were out before he came in."

"I'm going to go and look in on him. See if he has any ideas about dinner. We're not going home early tonight."

Ziva laughed. "That sounds like a good idea. Tell him that he really can choose. We will not question him this time."

"Yeah, right. Someone will _always_ question, no matter who chooses."

"True."

Tony smiled and ran up the stairs and to Tim's office. The door was closed, as usual, but Tony just walked in, not really thinking about anything.

...until he saw what Tim was doing.

He was holding a gun to his own head.

"Tim! What are you doing?" he asked.

Tim jumped and looked at him, the gun still at his temple.

"Tony, what are you doing in here? Is it dinner already?"

"No! What are you doing? Put the gun down! Why do you even _have_ a gun? What are you thinking?"

Tim looked at the gun and pulled it away from his temple.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"What's _wrong_?" Tony repeated incredulously. "You're pointing a gun at your head and you're asking me what's wrong?"

"It's not loaded."

"So what! What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Tim said, started to sound a little heated.

Tony didn't notice. He was too afraid of what he'd seen to think.

"Why are you pointing a gun at yourself?"

"There's nothing wrong, Tony," Tim said. "The gun isn't loaded!"

"So? You say that like it matters!"

"It _does_ matter! I wasn't trying to kill myself, Tony!" Tim said, getting to his feet.

"Then, what were you doing?"

"I was... It's just... It's nothing!" Tim said, getting louder and louder.

"You're not supposed to have a gun. You aren't a field agent anymore, remember? You don't even _like_ guns! Why in the world would you even have it with you?"

"Tony, I..."

"Give it to me."

"No! No! This is my gun," Tim said. "You have no right to–"

"No right? Are you kidding?"

"Shut up, Tony!" Tim shouted. "Okay? Just shut up! I can't talk to you right now. I need a break and I'm going outside. Do not follow me. Don't talk to me. I'm really mad at you right now. So leave me alone."

Tim pushed past Tony and out of the room. He'd left the gun on his desk. Tony picked it up and let out a whoosh of air. Now that he was alone in the room, he could see that he'd done the thing that they couldn't do. He'd pushed Tim into a corner and he couldn't keep up enough to talk logically. Tony hadn't given him a chance and now, he felt really bad about it.

He sighed and looked at the gun. Then, he gave himself a slap on the back of the head and walked out of the office. He went back to the bullpen.

"Did Tim come through here?" he asked.

Ziva nodded.

"What happened? He would not speak to us."

"I messed up," Tony said.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

Tony held up the gun. Ziva raised an eyebrow.

"He was holding it to his head when I walked in there."

"What?"

"He was holding a gun to his head. It's not loaded. He said that he wasn't trying to kill himself, but...I panicked. I should probably apologize."

"Yeah," Gibbs said, "but let me go talk to him, first. Give me the gun."

Tony handed it over and watched as Gibbs went to the elevator and headed out after Tim. He shook his head and sat down at his desk.

"I am sorry, Tony."

"I'm more sorry. I completely overreacted. Tim might have been able to tell me what was going on if I'd let him, but I freaked out and pushed him too hard. You know how mad he gets when he can't think fast enough to explain."

Ziva nodded. It didn't happen much anymore...but then, they were generally more careful.

"I feel like such a jerk."

"You were afraid."

"Yeah. I was."

Ziva just nodded.

There wasn't much else to say, really. This was a shock, but until Tim explained himself, they really weren't going to understand it. Maybe they wouldn't anyway, but it would be better than them all getting mad at each other.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs walked out of the building and looked around. He didn't think Tim would go very far. He had a routine he followed and it would be a major departure from that if he left the Yard altogether.

There he was, pacing back and forth by the big cannon in Willard Park. Gibbs jogged across Sicard and over to Tim.

He saw Gibbs and shook his head.

"I don't want to talk to Tony right now," he said angrily.

"I'm not Tony, McGee."

"He wouldn't stop talking! He wouldn't let me think! He wouldn't give me a chance! I had to tell him to shut up, but then...I was so mad that I couldn't think anymore. So I came out here."

"That's fine," Gibbs said calmly.

Tim ran one hand back and forth along the cannon as he paced. He was thoroughly agitated, that was for sure. Gibbs hadn't seen him like this in a long time and he figured it would be better to let Tim get the nervous energy out before he tried to talk to him.

After a few minutes, Tim stopped and looked at Gibbs, seeming a little embarrassed.

"Hi, Boss," he said softly.

"Why don't you sit down," Gibbs suggested and sat on a bench.

Tim hesitated and then sat down, too.

They were both quiet for a few seconds. Then, Gibbs judged that it was the right time to ask. He pulled out the gun.

"You want to explain this?"

"It's my gun."

"How did you get it?"

"I faked a work order, took it to the armory and signed it out. I keep it in my desk."

Gibbs was at least happy that Tim wasn't trying to lie about it. He was actually quite matter-of-fact.

"Why?"

"Because it's mine. It's my gun that I got out, not anyone else's. It hadn't been reissued."

"But you're not using it. You don't even have permission to use it."

"I know. I _don't_ use it. I don't have any bullets." Then, the energy was back. "Boss, I wasn't trying to kill myself! I mean...think about it! If I was going to do that, I wouldn't use a gun! I wouldn't be _able_ to use a gun! I can't think when I'm holding one." He got to his feet and started pacing again.

Gibbs watched him for a moment.

"Tim?"

"What?"

"Have a seat."

Tim sat down, but he was antsy, fidgeting and ready to get up again if provoked.

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to listen, okay?"

Tim took a deep breath. "Okay."

"If you're not planning on using it, then, why do you have it? Can you tell me that?"

Tim finally made eye contact...and he shook his head.

"I don't think I have the words to explain it, Boss. It's just what I have to do. It's not that I want to die. It's not that I want to have the gun just to have it. I need to have it with me. In my office."

"Why point at yourself?"

"Because it scares me...until I can't think."

"I don't get it, Tim," Gibbs said.

"I know. I can't explain it right. I know it's hard to get it when I can't really tell you what's going on, but...but my brain doesn't work like yours does, not anymore."

"It never did," Gibbs said wryly.

To his relief, Tim smiled. He was calm enough to be listening and getting the joke.

"But it _really_ doesn't now. It makes perfect sense to me that I would need to have that gun and that I'd point it at my own head. I really don't know why it's a problem for you. I can't understand it, Boss. I don't _know_ why you think it's wrong! Why Tony thinks it's wrong! I don't know! I just know that it makes sense to me...and if you take the gun away from me here, I'll find some other way to get one, but I'll have to have it at my apartment and I don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it scares me...and at home...there aren't people to keep me anchored...to keep me from falling off the edge of the world."

Gibbs remembered when Tim had talked about that before...back when he thought he was dead.

"You still feel that?"

"Sometimes. Mostly in the morning. Boss, I need to do this. I need to have that gun. I need to point it at myself. ...and I don't need bullets. I don't _want_ bullets."

"Promise?"

"Yes," Tim said easily with no hedging.

"Okay."

Gibbs hesitated, but then, he gave the gun back to Tim.

"Keep it in your office and if we see any bullets..."

"I don't want bullets!" Tim said again and did seem afraid at the thought of the gun being loaded.

"Okay. Good. Now...you know Tony will want to apologize."

"I don't want to talk to him today. I'm still mad and I wouldn't be able to listen to him. I can talk to him tomorrow."

"What about your usual dinner?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. Things are too weird today. Abby said she'd give me a ride home, but if she's busy, I'll just take a taxi."

"No Metro?"

"No. Not today. I don't think I'd make it home."

"Okay. Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell your psychiatrist about what you're doing, okay?"

Tim's brow furrowed in that all-too-common puzzlement. Some things that seemed so logical to bring up just weren't to Tim anymore. The desire to point a gun at oneself would be a logical thing to mention in therapy, but Tim didn't think about that at all. That was one of the reasons Gibbs and Ducky tried to keep tabs on Tim's mental processes. Then, they could tell him when things were important to bring up. It was also why Gibbs was so patient with Tim. He wanted to make sure that Tim felt he could talk about things and not hide them.

"Why?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Because you need to. He should know."

"But I won't be able to tell him any better than I can tell you. It'll just be confusing."

"He needs to know, Tim. Tell him."

"Okay."

"You ready to go inside yet?"

"No. I still feel mad at Tony."

"Okay. I'll go in and tell him. Just come inside when you're ready, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"It's all right."

There was a little bit of confusion still, but he nodded. Gibbs got up and went back inside. These moments were when Tim seemed the most different to Gibbs. It was almost like explaining things to a child...a really smart child who just didn't quite get the subtle nuances of life yet. ...only it was questionable whether or not Tim _ever_ would.

He walked into the bullpen and Tony looked up with a questioning glance.

"Where is he?"

"Still outside. He said he's still mad at you and he won't be ready to talk to you until tomorrow."

"Yeah. Makes sense. I feel like an idiot. I know what I'm supposed to do and I just...threw it all out the window."

"You can apologize to him tomorrow, but he won't talk to you when he comes in. ...and I let him keep the gun."

"You _what_?" Tony asked.

"Why, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. "Surely, it is not a good idea."

"I don't know if it is or not, but Tim said he needs it. He tried to explain it to me and he couldn't. I'd rather know he has it here unloaded than have to worry about his having one at home...loaded."

Ziva nodded reluctantly.

"He said no bullets?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. I believe him."

"Right...okay. ...and I'm sure he said no dinner, too."

"Yeah."

Tony looked at Ziva.

"Sorry."

"It is all right. We will survive one evening."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Positive."

Tim came into the bullpen, looked toward them and then walked to his office without speaking. Tony tried to act blase about it but he wasn't. Gibbs could see how bad he felt. The only good thing was that Tim likely _would_ be over it by tomorrow. It just took some time for him to process things and then he'd be fine.

Tony looked at Gibbs for a moment, smiled weakly and then focused on his computer. Time to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby went up to see if Tim was ready to leave. She'd heard about what happened and, since she was likely to be at NCIS most of the night, she figured that Tim should definitely get a ride home with someone he wasn't irritated at.

She knocked on the door.

"Come in."

That was rare. Tim noticing the door. She opened it, and Tim's computer was already off. He was staring out the window.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"You ready to go home?"

"Yeah."

He stood up and looked at her for a moment.

"They told you."

"Of course they did," Abby said with a smile. "Are you still mad at Tony?"

Tim just shrugged and grabbed his bag. They walked out of the office and out of the building. No one tried to talk to them. That was all to the good because on these days, Tim didn't like conversation.

They walked to Abby's car, but Tim seemed more distracted than usual and Abby had to keep her hand on his arm to keep him going in the right direction.

The drive to his place was silent. Tim wasn't staring at anything. His eyes were closed. When she pulled up to his apartment, Abby felt a twinge of concern.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"We're here."

"Oh." He opened his eyes and looked up...and then at her. "Will you help me inside?"

"You think you won't make it?"

"I would...eventually, but..." He actually looked a little embarrassed. "Once I...I forgot to look at the numbers on the doors and I went to my neighbor's apartment instead of mine. She was nice about it, but she's looked at me weird ever since. I don't want to do that again...and things are just weird."

"Okay."

Abby got out and walked with him up to his apartment. As soon as she opened the door, Jethro was there leaping around excitedly. She was surprised to see Tim perk up a little bit as soon as Jethro jumped up on him. He smiled and hugged the German shepherd.

"Not outside tonight, Jethro. We'll have to wait until tomorrow morning."

"I'll take him out," Abby said.

"Thanks."

Abby quickly got Jethro's leash while Tim put his bag down walked to his bedroom. Jethro pulled Abby out of the apartment and she was surprised again when he didn't try to stay outside. He seemed eager to get back in. She was pulled just as enthusiastically _inside_ as she had been outside.

When they got back to the apartment, Jethro zoomed into the bedroom as soon as Abby let him off the leash. She followed him and then stopped in the doorway and just watched with a smile.

Jethro was on Tim's bed, licking Tim's face with a little bit of a whine as he did. Tim allowed him and then buried his face in Jethro's fur and hugged the dog. Then, he pulled back and scratched Jethro's ears. The whine stopped and Jethro started panting contentedly with his eyes closed.

Tim looked happy right in that moment. Abby wasn't sure she'd seen Tim looking so happy since he'd been shot.

He looked up suddenly and smiled at her.

"You're in good hands," Abby said.

He nodded.

"We take care of each other," he said.

"All right. I've got to go back to work. You feeling better?"

"Yeah. I should be fine tomorrow."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Tim."

"Bye."

Abby left, feeling better. Tim would be all right when he had Jethro with him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"They're with him too much. This isn't going to work," Chayce said. "Every time he goes outside, his dog is with him. They took him back from work last night. It's not going to work."

"It'll work," Mike said calmly. "All we need is _one_ night when he's by himself and that happens more often than it doesn't. We're all set up. The decision hasn't been made yet, and we have time."

"How long will they put off the decision, though? NCIS isn't going to back off."

"Long enough."

"How long?"

"If we take him once and get information, we can show what we've got and that will change things. All we have to be is first."

"I don't like this."

"I know. The next time he comes home, if he's alone, we take him. Got it?"

"Yes," Chayce said, reluctantly. "This had better be worth it. If we're caught..."

"We won't be."

"You always say that."

"Because I'm right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up feeling as normal as he ever did. He got ready for his day following his same routine. Jethro was feeling frisky and took Tim a little further than usual, but he still led him back as usual. Tim trusted the German shepherd to do what was necessary to keep him safe on the sidewalks.

They got inside and Tim went through his routine. He checked for his badge, his keys and his wallet and then walked to the door. He opened it and fell back in surprise.

"Tony! What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was wondering if I could give you a ride to work," Tony said, looking sheepish. "If you don't want to, that's fine."

Tim knew that this meant Tony was going to apologize. Was he ready to revisit that? He thought about it for a few seconds. Tony let him.

"Sure. Okay." Tim turned back and petted Jethro gently. "See you tonight, Jethro."

Then, he looked at Tony.

"I don't want to be late. Some people notice when I'm late."

"You won't be. I promise...well, I promise as long as the traffic doesn't work against me."

Tim smiled and nodded. He felt for his badge, his keys and his wallet again and then followed Tony out. They walked down the stairs and got in the car.

"You're going to apologize, aren't you."

"If you're ready for that," Tony said.

Tim looked at Tony for a few seconds. Sometimes, he couldn't help wondering how different things had been before. He had the memories, but the emotions behind those memories, the feelings, how he had perceived everything before...all that wasn't clear. He could only go on what felt natural to him _now_. He did know, however, that Tony wouldn't have asked permission to apologize before.

"I'm ready."

"And I'm sorry, Tim. I know that I need to give you time to think and...and process everything, but I got scared."

"But why?" Tim asked. "I told you there were no bullets in the gun. You _know_ that I can't handle shooting one. It turns my brain off. I can't think when I shoot a gun. Why would you get scared just because you saw me holding one?"

"Because, Tim, you were pointing it at yourself. That's against gun safety rules, for one thing."

Tim smiled. "But the rules aren't why you were scared. Did you really think I would kill myself?"

"Maybe."

Tim looked out the windshield.

"Would you?" Tony asked.

Tim thought about it.

"Maybe...but not now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...if I was going to kill myself, it would have been back when I thought I was dead, when I couldn't comprehend still being alive. It would have been when I thought I couldn't be myself. It would have been when I went to Ohio and realized how much I'd changed and that I couldn't fix that. It wouldn't be now. Now, everything is okay. I know how to get through a day. I have a job. I have friends. Some days are harder than others, but it doesn't make sense that I'd kill myself now. ...and, Tony, if I did, it wouldn't be with a gun. Getting shot in the head once didn't kill me. I don't want to run the risk of it failing again."

Tim laughed a little and then rubbed at the scar on his forehead.

"I can't laugh about it, Tim. Not all the time. Not now."

"I know. I know that it's hard for you guys sometimes. I know that I'm weird, that I don't act like the person you remember, but I'm not that person, Tony. I'm not and I can't ever be. I won't _ever_ be like who I was."

"You're more like you were than you think," Tony said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Tim shook his head.

"No. I'm not, Tony, but you can't know that because you can't see what I can see."

Traffic slowed to a crawl and then stopped and Tony looked at Tim.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I see things differently from you. I see..." Tim looked out at the sky, at the swirling patterns that could easily take over his vision if he let them. "...things that I'm sure aren't really there, but they help me think. They help me find answers when I work. They're...just there..."

"You're seeing things?"

Tim laughed. "Not like _you're_ thinking. It's just...differences in my vision. I'm not seeing a six-foot rabbit."

Tony laughed, too, but it sounded to Tim like it was a little forced.

"How much do I bother you, Tony?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. How much do the differences bother you?"

Tony shrugged awkwardly. Traffic started moving and Tony looked back at the road. He didn't answer.

"Really, Tony. I won't get mad if you tell me how you really feel. I got mad at you yesterday because you wouldn't listen to me and you wouldn't give me time to think, but right now, I'm not mad and I won't be mad if you get bothered. I'm pretty sure you don't think I'm a freak like some do."

"Who thinks that?" Tony asked, sounding affronted.

Tim shrugged. "Just some of the people at NCIS. Some of them think that, because I have a hole in my head, my ears somehow stopped working or that I'm blind and can't tell when they're staring at me or whispering about me. It bothers me. Sometimes, it bothers me a lot, but I can't make them be any different."

"Who does that?" Tony asked again.

"It doesn't matter," Tim said. "I'm not talking about them. I know about them, and I don't care because they're not my friends. I'm asking about you because you _are_ my friend, Tony, and it matters if you're bothered, but I want it to be something that's...out in the open. Clear and honest. Do I bother you?"

Tony sighed, and Tim thought he might not answer. He actually thought that he already knew the answer because he'd seen Tony give him looks that were similar to (although not exactly like) the expressions of those who thought he was a freak.

"Tim...sometimes, when I look at you, it's like I'm looking at a stranger. You get this expression on your face that is so...different, like you're somewhere else, and I don't know...it's almost like you're not really here and it takes something more to pull you back. And that's hard for me...but...but then, I remember seeing you on the ground, thinking you were dead, and I remember realizing that you had survived. That's why I freaked out when I saw you pointing the gun at yourself. I was afraid of seeing that again. As hard as it is sometimes for me, I would much rather have you here and different, than not have you here at all."

Tim smiled.

"That was hard to say, wasn't it. You don't like being so clear, and I know that you have be clearer for me than you like to be."

He was glad to see Tony smile, too...more genuinely.

"Yeah, it's hard for me to be so...honest," Tony admitted. "You're probably good for me since I can't hide behind being clever."

"I appreciate it, Tony. Thanks."

"You're welcome. So...am I forgiven for being a jerk to you yesterday?"

"Of course," Tim said. "I told you I'm not mad anymore."

"Is it really that easy for you?"

"When I want it to be. If I want to be mad, I can stay mad, but that makes me feel fuzzy. It's harder to think when I get mad. I need the time to calm down. I can't manage emotions like I used to. It's easier not to feel them so intensely, but when I feel them...they're there. They're _really_ there, and I have a hard time with them."

"You never said that before."

"Not to you," Tim said. "You never asked me. I've told other people when they ask. It's not a secret."

"I guess I haven't really tried to ask."

"It's hard to do it," Tim said, reasonably. "Everyone wants me to be normal, to be how I was, but I'm not and I won't ever be. I've accepted that. I just wish that everyone else could."

"I'm working on it."

"I know."

They reached the M Street entrance to the Yard and turned in. Tony parked and they walked into NCIS together.

"You're early, Agent McGee," Henry said with a smile. "And you're _really_ early, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony chuckled. "I gave Tim a ride. I have to be early to keep up with him."

"Ah, I see. Well, have a nice day."

"Will do," Tim said.

They walked up to the bullpen together. Ziva was already there and her face brightened when she saw the two of them.

"Good morning, Tim," she said happily and hugged him quickly. "Are you feeling better than yesterday?"

Tim nodded. "Not so weird today," he said.

"Good. I am glad. I was hoping that you would not be mad still today."

"I'm not. Tony apologized and it's okay now."

"Good."

"Agent McGee!"

Tim looked up and saw Vance leaning over the balcony.

"Yes, Director?"

"Could you come up here for a moment, please?"

Tim nodded and hurried up without a backward glance. He wondered what Vance could want from him right now. It wasn't very often that Vance spoke to him personally.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Is he all right?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. He told me that there are people who think he's a freak."

"Abby said the same," Ziva said. "She said he would not tell her who."

"Yeah, he wouldn't tell me, either. He said it doesn't matter, but..."

"But who would be saying that now after all this time?" Ziva asked. "Surely, everyone is used to Tim being the way he is."

"I'm not," Tony said. "And I'm spending a lot of time with him."

"But you are not saying he is a freak," Ziva said. "You are spending time with him and you are his friend."

Tony shook his head. "Tim says that it doesn't matter now, that he doesn't care because they're not his friends, but I don't like people thinking of him that way. It feels wrong to me."

"We will have to watch more closely to see who looks at Tim in that way."

Tony nodded.

"What do you think Vance wants him for?"

"Maybe he has finally had some progress on the Allen case."

"I hope so. I'm getting sick of this. The more the FBI drags its feet, the more it seems like they have something to hide."

Ziva nodded. "I agree."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked into Vance's office and stopped in surprise. Gibbs and Fornell were both sitting there, along with a couple of people he didn't know.

"What is it, Director Vance?" Tim asked.

"I'd like to have your summation on the kind of information that might be hidden on Allen's website."

"I don't know what there is," Tim said. "I haven't looked at it since you told me to stop."

Vance smiled. "I'm aware of that, Agent McGee. I'd like your opinion. Have a seat."

"Who are they?" Tim asked, trying to sound polite but unable to take his eyes off the people in the room he didn't know.

"Of course, my apologies," Vance said. "You know Agent Fornell, of course. This is the Deputy Director of the FBI, Franklin Mason, and the agent with him is the head of the Allen case at the FBI, Agent Norris Russell."

Tim didn't like how Agent Russell was looking at him. He looked at Gibbs for a moment and saw him nod.

"I think that Allen didn't want the FBI to see what he had. I don't know why he chose to hide it online, but I don't think he wanted you guys to see it."

"Why not?" Director Mason asked.

"Either because he thinks you're the problem or else because he had a grudge. I don't know that part. I don't know anything about Allen himself. I've only seen his work, and he's skilled, but I feel like he didn't want you in there, but he wanted someone."

"Like you?" Agent Russell asked.

"Anyone who could follow what he did. The FBI couldn't. I could."

"And, in your opinion, is this something that would indicate that NCIS should continue to work on this case?" Vance asked.

Tim shrugged. "I don't know anything about that," he said. "Allen contacted us before he was killed. He didn't ask for the FBI's help. Doesn't that matter? Shouldn't what _he_ wanted mean something?"

"If he was doing something illegal, then, no," Director Mason said.

"Is there any indication that he was? You'd been watching him," Gibbs said, speaking for the first time.

"There's always a chance that we missed something," Agent Russell said.

"Is that everything, Director Vance?" Tim asked. He didn't like being in the same room with Agent Russell. He found something about him very off-putting. He wanted the security of his little office.

"Director Mason?" Vance asked.

"I don't have anything else. Thank you, Agent McGee."

Tim bounced to his feet and left the office without another word. When he got out, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned. Gibbs and Fornell had followed him.

"I don't like Agent Russell," Tim said before Gibbs could speak. "I don't like how he looked at me."

"Agent Russell resents being shown up by a single person," Fornell said with a rueful smile. "And he's never been the nicest person anyway."

"I don't like him," Tim declared firmly.

"I don't, either," Gibbs said. "You all right?"

"Yes. Why did Vance want me in there?"

"A show of cooperation, and you asked the right question," Gibbs said.

"I did?"

Fornell nodded. "You pointed out that Allen did what he wanted and contacted NCIS, not the FBI. That should mean something. I think the wrangling will be done within the week and you guys will be able to get going on it."

"Don't you want priority?" Tim asked.

"I want to know why Allen thought this was so important. If there's rot in the FBI, we need to know, and the rotten elements won't want that to happen. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that they'll get away."

Tim nodded. "Can I go to my office now?" he asked Gibbs.

"Yeah."

Tim fled to the safety of his little office without speaking to anyone else. He turned on his computer and found a couple of requests from Cybercrimes. Nothing too complex, but enough that it would occupy his mind for a little while. He started to relax as he got back into his usual routine.

And he felt better.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Ziva went up to Tim's office at lunchtime...at Tony's request. He was still feeling the chagrin of having put Tim on the defensive and creating the tension. Ziva smiled when she got to Tim's office and he didn't answer her knock. That was normal. It looked as though they were going to get back to the usual pattern.

She opened the door, and Tim was sitting, facing his computer, but he had headphones. That wasn't usual.

"Tim?" she asked.

He didn't turn around. She walked closer.

"Tim?"

Tim's eyes were closed. He was listening to something, but was it music? Tim hadn't shown much interest in music...at least not here at work, not since he'd come back. She touched his shoulder gently. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She smiled.

"Tim."

He took off the headphones.

"Have you heard of Kansas?"

"The state?"

He smiled.

"No. The music group."

"No, I have not."

"It's a band from the seventies and eighties. Jimmy suggested them to me. I was listening. I've heard some of the songs before, but I didn't know many of them. I was listening to a song called 'Carry On, Wayward Son' and I like it. I think it's about me...even though they don't know who I am." He was quiet for a moment and then he looked at her. "Is it time for lunch?"

"Yes," Ziva said. She made a mental note to look up the song and see what Tim meant about it. Random statements Tim made could end up being important...or not.

Tim got up and walked out with her. They joined up with Tony, but Abby and Jimmy couldn't go. Ziva took on the task of making sure Tim didn't get distracted and wander away. They talked on the way to the food court. They didn't stay in there because it was too chaotic for Tim, but they got some food and then walked back to Willard Park.

"Tim, who is it that you've noticed staring at you?" Tony asked.

"It doesn't matter," Tim said.

"It does matter," Ziva said.

"Why?"

"Because it is wrong for them to treat you that way."

"They don't say anything _to_ me, and we're not friends."

"That doesn't matter," Tony said. "You're an NCIS agent and you have been here for years. You deserve respect."

Tim smiled. "I have respect from the people I care about. You guys, Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy...Director Vance. Those are the people who matter. Everyone else? I don't care."

"Well, I'm glad, because they're beneath your notice, but still..."

Tim shook his head and looked up at the sky...at whatever it was he saw when he looked at the sky.

"If I don't need to notice them, you don't, either."

"Perhaps."

Tim smiled. "No, not perhaps. It's true. I don't care what they say and I don't want you to try and force them to look at me normally. Just because they changed on the outside doesn't mean they changed on the inside. I'd rather know which ones I don't need to notice. If they start pretending they don't care that I'm weird, I won't know which ones actually feel that way. I can't tell when people are pretending anymore. I can only tell what they do. Just leave it like it is."

Ziva was reluctant, but she could see that Tim meant it.

"Very well, Tim. We will do what you ask, but if they ever _do_ anything..."

"Yeah, we're not standing by if they do."

"They haven't, but I'll tell you if they do. Promise."

"Okay," Tony said.

They finished eating lunch and then went back to work. Ziva went up to Tim's office with him, but she didn't linger. Instead, she went back to the bullpen.

"Tony, do you know a music group called Kansas?"

Tony smiled. "Of course. Who doesn't?"

"I did not."

"Well, I guess they didn't get a lot of airtime in Israel?"

"I suppose not."

"Why?"

"Tim was listening to a song by them when I got him for lunch."

"Really? Which one?"

"A Wayward Son?"

"'Carry On Wayward Son'."

"Yes, that is the one. He said it was about him."

"Really? I don't remember all the words. Really, I just know the chorus."

Ziva walked over to his desk and peered over his shoulder as he did a search for the lyrics.

"Which part do you think he meant?" she asked.

"I hope he's not saying that he's crazy," Tony said. "'Though my mind could think, I still was a mad man.' That's not so great."

"And yet, there are moments when he does seem a bit...unstable. He himself has admitted it."

"Doesn't make him crazy," Tony muttered.

"He does not claim to be wise," Ziva said. "Perhaps it is just the idea of needing to carry on. I hope that is all it is."

"Yeah. At least he wasn't saying that about 'Dust in the Wind'."

"Why?"

"That's about dying."

"Oh. Yes...I am glad it is this song instead."

Gibbs came striding in. He raised an eyebrow at them.

"Just looking up an old song, Boss," Tony said.

The eyebrow went even further up.

"Tim was listening to it and said it was about him," Ziva said. "You know how he is sometimes. He says something but either will not or cannot explain what he means. We just wanted to know."

"And?"

"It does not seem to mean anything...dangerous."

Gibbs smiled a little at Ziva's choice of words and sat down at his desk. Ziva looked at Tony and then went back to work herself. Perhaps they were being a bit overprotective of Tim, but better that than to lose him. After all that had happened, they all felt the potential loss much too keenly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Dr. Mallard, it's my turn to make sure Tim notices the time," Jimmy said near the end of the day.

"Oh, is it that time already?" Ducky asked, looking at his watch.

Jimmy chuckled.

"Do I need to help you with that, too?" he asked.

"No, impudent boy. Go on and do your task."

Jimmy smiled and left Autopsy, but as he headed up to Tim's office, he felt the same slight disquiet that he always felt, knowing that Tim was like he was now because he had been protecting Jimmy. Ducky, too, of course, but Jimmy always thought about it in terms of himself. Tim didn't seem bothered by how he'd changed most of the time, but Jimmy could _see_ the change and it bothered him a little bit.

"I don't want to go in there. You do it."

Jimmy looked down toward Tim's office. Two people were standing outside his door. One had a pile of files in her arms that she was trying to hand off to the other one.

"He doesn't bite."

"I don't care. He's weird! He freaks me out. There's something about how he looks at me whenever I go in there...as if he's not really looking at me. I think it's nuts that they let him be here."

"Maybe because he knows you think of him like that."

"If he doesn't bother you, then, _you_ do it."

"If you want his help, then, you have to ask him. I'm not doing it for you."

The other woman walked away. There was an expression of distaste and even a little fear on the face of the woman who remained. Jimmy didn't recognize her. Maybe from Legal? HR? He didn't know, but the attitude bugged him. He wished things were different, but he wasn't going to take that kind of treatment...even if Tim wasn't there to see it. He stormed over.

"Tim McGee is ten _times_ the person you will ever be!" he said loudly, not caring who heard him. "Maybe a _million _times! He saved my life when he got shot and he's fought back against more than you could _ever_ comprehend! I don't care what you wanted him to do. Unless it was ordered by someone else, do it yourself! You don't deserve to talk to someone as great as he is because he's so many light years ahead of you as a human being that it's not even funny!"

The woman's eyes were wide open.

"Well?" he asked. "What are you going to do now? I hope you're going to go back to your little cubicle or whatever and rethink the idiocy that reigns in your life because you're not talking to Tim right now. Got it?"

She backed away and then hurried back down the hall. Jimmy looked around and there were people down in the bullpen looking up at him...and Vance was standing outside his office.

Jimmy flushed and cleared his throat.

"Hey...guys. Go on about your business. Show's over," he said awkwardly.

He waved a little and there were actually a few people who laughed but then, they went about their business...except for Vance who raised his eyebrows. He didn't say anything, but Jimmy got it. He held up a finger, asking for a moment. Vance nodded.

Jimmy walked into Tim's office. Tim was sitting there, not on the computer, staring at him.

"You were yelling," he said. "I heard you."

"Sorry," Jimmy said.

"You were saying a lot of things out there to her."

"I lost my temper."

"I know." Tim smiled a little. "Thanks for saying it."

"Really?"

"A lot of people think the things she was saying."

"You heard her?"

Tim nodded. "I was thinking. They were talking right outside my door. It's not soundproofed. I was listening."

"Oh, man. I'm sorry that you heard it."

Tim shook his head. "No. It's okay. It's good to know who thinks that way about me. Then, I'm prepared."

"For what?"

"For what I see in their eyes," Tim said. "Even when they don't think they show it...how they feel is in their eyes. It's the patterns."

Tim turned around and looked out the window for a moment and then turned back.

"I guess it's time for me to go home?"

"Yeah. You okay to make it by yourself?"

Tim nodded.

"I'm fine."

He got his bag and walked out of his office. Jimmy watched him go, took a breath and then walked out himself. He saw Tim talking in a low voice to Vance. Then, he turned to Jimmy, smiled and headed down.

Jimmy walked over to Vance.

"Sorry, sir."

"In my office, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy nodded and followed Vance. Once the door was closed, Vance turned around.

"So you lost your temper, Mr. Palmer. I think it may be a first."

"It's happened before...but not usually so publicly."

Vance almost smiled, Jimmy thought.

"She was calling Tim a freak," he said. "She said he shouldn't be here. I'll apologize if you want me to, although it wouldn't be very sincere."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Palmer. Please don't repeat your behavior today. If you have a problem with an employee, either speak to the person quietly or else report it if the behavior warrants that."

"Yes, sir."

"Agent McGee appreciated your intervention. He said that he hoped I wouldn't be too hard on you."

"He didn't need to do that."

"Maybe not, but I'd guess that he felt he should."

"I guess."

"There will be no punishment, but do keep in mind that you should stay in a bit better control."

"Understood."

"Good. You can get back to work, then, Mr. Palmer."

"Thank you, Director Vance."

Jimmy started to leave.

"By the way, I also appreciate your standing up for Tim. There's no need to treat him like that."

Jimmy turned around. Vance was already sitting down.

"Good evening, Mr. Palmer."

"Good evening, sir."

Jimmy left and headed down to Autopsy.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was relieved when he got to his building. He had almost missed his stop. In his haste to get out of NCIS, he had not taken the time he usually did to analyze how capable he would be to get home on his own. He would be glad to spend some time with Jethro who always managed to ground him.

He walked up the steps and to his apartment door. He started to pull out his keys and then, he saw two men. One of them had been following him around a lot the last few weeks. He looked at them.

...and then, he saw the gun.

One of the men was pointing it at him. He got as far as stretching his hand toward the lock before he froze in terror.

The men came up close to him.

"You come with us, don't tell anyone, and do what we say...you won't have anything to worry about," the man said.

Tim took a deep trembling breath.

"Don't say a word and you'll be fine."

The other man, the one he had seen, grabbed his arm and pulled him away from his apartment, away from Jethro, away from his routine. Tim felt himself getting more and more unbalanced.

By the time they'd forced him to get into the car, he was almost completely disconnected.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Suddenly, he was back at his apartment, staring at the door.

Jethro was whining inside, scratching at the other side.

Tim looked around and didn't see the men. His keys were in his hand. He had no idea what time it was or anything. He managed to open the door and was nearly overwhelmed by Jethro leaping up at him. Tim fell to his knees and hugged his dog tightly, shaking with fear. He couldn't say anything.

All he could do was hope that what he thought he remembered was a bad dream.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It turned out that it was four in the morning when Tim got into his apartment. He didn't know what to do. They had warned him that if he told anyone they'd shoot him. He didn't doubt that they could find him at work and do just that. He didn't dare tell anyone what happened in case they were listening.

...but at the same time, he _really_ wanted to tell someone and have them tell him what to do.

It took a full two hours of sitting next to Jethro, holding him tightly, before he was ready to face leaving his apartment. Jethro didn't try to get away.

At the same time, he didn't think he could make it to work on his own, but he was afraid of asking someone for help. He was afraid that they'd ask him what was wrong.

...but he wouldn't make it.

...but they'd kill him if he told anyone.

...but was it real?

He didn't want to go to work. For the first time that he could remember since getting shot, he didn't want to go to work. NCIS had been the one true source of continuity from his life before and his life after, and he'd never wanted to stay away.

...but he did right now.

...but he really wanted to be with someone.

...but could he get there on his own?

Tim thought about it. No. There was no way he had enough concentration in him right now to get to work.

Jethro whined at him. Tim looked at his dog. Maybe he could take Jethro with him?

...but if he did, what would the others think?

...but if he didn't...

Tim knew that the Tim he'd been before wouldn't be having this problem. It was one of the few times when he hated the way he was right now. He knew that the solution should be easy, but it wasn't. Tim couldn't figure out what the solution was. He couldn't decide what would be best and what would get him killed.

With a gun.

He knew that if he got shot again he'd die. There was no way he could get lucky the way he had twice. ...and at that, he'd thought he was dead anyway.

"What do I do, Jethro? What do I do?"

Jethro whined at him again. Then, he trotted over to where Tim kept his work shoes. He picked them up in his teeth (a big no-no, generally) and brought them back to Tim. He put them down and nudged them toward Tim.

"Okay. I'll go to work. I should go to work. I can't make it without you, though. Maybe I could get back to my routine if I could get home on my own tonight. Okay. I'm taking you with me. Okay."

Tim got to his feet and carefully got ready for the day. He was shaking. He was still afraid.

He picked up his badge and his bag. Then, he clipped Jethro onto his leash and stood in front of his door. He didn't want to leave. He felt so unsettled that just the thought of going out into the world made him shake.

He knelt down.

"Jethro...I can't."

He buried his face in Jethro's fur and listened to the dog's concerned whine. Finally, he stood up, took a breath and left the apartment, his hand clenching Jethro's leash so tightly that his knuckles were white.

He walked to the Metro, Jethro right by his side, keeping him from getting off course. They walked into the station and Tim headed toward the entrance.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Tim kept walking.

"Sir?"

Jethro nudged him again and Tim turned. A Metro employee was approaching him.

"What?" Tim asked.

"We don't allow dogs on the Metro. Only service animals."

"I need him with me," Tim said. "He's well-trained."

"Is he a guide dog, sir?" the man asked.

Tim couldn't think of how to explain why Jethro was so essential. His mind wasn't functioning correctly anyway.

"I _have_ to have him with me," he said.

"If he's a guide dog, he can go with you, but...but you're not blind, sir."

"I was shot in the head two years ago," Tim blurted out, speaking too quickly to sound normal. "I still have problems. I need Jethro with me. I'll get lost. I won't make it to work if I don't."

The man actually backed off a step or two. Jethro whined at Tim again.

"Please?" Tim asked. "Please."

"Uh...um..." The man clearly wanted to be anywhere else other than where he was, confronting someone he obviously thought was crazy. Tim could see it in his eyes.

"Tomorrow, I'll make arrangements for a taxi if I need Jethro with me. Please?"

"Go. Just...go..." The man walked away.

Tim hated the way the man had looked at him, but he needed to get on the train. He looked down at Jethro.

"We need to go, Jethro...before he changes his mind. You ready?"

Jethro barked once and then they headed off. Tim didn't even see all the looks he got from people because of Jethro, but Jethro was on his best behavior. It was a good thing because Tim's eyes were closed. It was taking everything he had just to listen for the Metro stops, and at that, he still almost missed his. They got off, Tim feeling buffeted by the crowds of people who had surged around him.

Eventually, they got out to the street. Tim didn't even know how long it had taken him because he kept disconnecting, but finally, he was in the open air again. Jethro kept him from wandering into the street. It seemed to take forever, but they made it to the gates of the Yard.

"Agent McGee, you're late."

"Yeah."

"Hey, are you okay? You're looking a little wigged out, if you don't mind my saying."

"I don't mind. It's like I was somewhere else. Jethro had to help me here today."

"Maybe you shouldn't have come."

"No, I needed to come to work," Tim said, not willing to reveal why he was so desperate for it.

"Okay, okay. Don't worry, Agent McGee. I'm not going to send you home."

Tim smiled weakly. He must really sound bad this morning. Someone who knew him was reacting to the way he was acting.

"Sorry."

"No worries. Go on in. Besides, with your dog here, I wouldn't want to risk bugging you."

Tim smiled a little more and walked to the building. He got inside.

"Agent McGee, you're really late today. Metro break down again?" Henry asked.

"No. Couldn't get...going this morning. I just...didn't...sleep much."

_Did I? Did I sleep? I don't know. I can't remember now._

"You okay?"

"No," Tim said, honestly. "But I had to come to work. I needed...routine."

"No problem on my end," Henry said, "but you don't need to worry about forcing yourself to do things you can't do."

Tim just shook his head and went to the elevator. Jethro was still doing more of the directing than Tim would like to admit. The elevator went up to the balcony and Tim walked toward his office. Tony was just coming out.

"Hey, Tim. Where have you been? It's almost nine!"

"Is it?"

_I didn't think that much time had passed,_ Tim thought to himself.

"Yeah. You okay, man?"

Tim could see Tony's worry.

"I'm not...but I'm here. Jethro came with me and it was okay. I just need to get to work and...and...I was..."

"You were what?"

Tim backed away from telling Tony what had happened. At this point, he wasn't sure it actually had anyway.

"I didn't sleep much last night...and...I'm all... Things just aren't right."

"Nightmares?"

"No! No...no nightmares," Tim said with irritation. "I just went... I..."

"You didn't have to come, Tim."

"Yes, I did. I need to get into my office, Tony. I need to."

Tim couldn't stand out on the balcony, exposed the way he was. He brushed by Tony, into his office, and he sat down. It was such a relief to be in here. It was safe in here. Jethro whined at him again and Tim knelt on the floor and hugged his dog tightly.

"I made it, Jethro. I made it."

Tim almost wanted to cry.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony walked down to the bullpen.

"Did you see that?" he asked Ziva.

She nodded.

"Yes. I could not hear him, though."

"He was..."

"What, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked as he strode in.

"Hey, Boss. McGee just got here."

"Just barely?"

"Yeah, and he...I'm going to hate myself for describing it this way...but he kind of seemed crazy."

"How?"

"He wasn't speaking clearly. He really looked like he was two seconds away from a meltdown. And he brought his dog with him, too. I don't remember the last time he did that."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing really, and you know that he doesn't tell us as much as he tells you and Ducky. Something is wrong with him, Boss. I don't know what it is, but..."

Gibbs furrowed his brow. He took a couple of steps toward the stairs and then paused when his phone rang.

"Gibbs," he said tersely.

Tony watched as Gibbs' expression became irritated. He listened for a few seconds and then hung up the phone.

"Tell Ducky about it and get him up to talk to Tim."

"What's going on, Boss?"

"Something from the FBI. They're claiming that they've made progress on breaking Allen's encryption and aren't willing to give us priority anymore."

"What? How?"

Gibbs just glared and ran up the stairs, heading to Vance's office instead of to Tim's office.

"What do you think happened? Tim was not having this trouble yesterday," Ziva said.

"I don't know, but it was different from when he just gets mad or frustrated. I mean...this is the first time that I'd say that he seemed crazy...at least since he was in the hospital. I'm worried about him."

Ziva nodded in agreement and picked up her phone.

"I will call Ducky."

"Okay."

Ziva dialed.

"Ducky, do you have some time right now? No...not for me. Gibbs would like you to talk to Tim. He just barely got to NCIS and he seems..."

She trailed off. None of them liked using the word _crazy_ to describe Tim. He wasn't crazy, but he _was_ different.

"Yes," she agreed reluctantly.

Ducky must have used it, Tony figured.

"Thank you, Ducky."

She hung up.

"He is coming up." She was still for a moment and then, staring steadfastly at her computer screen, she spoke again. "I do not want to see him like this."

"Yeah...me, neither."

Tony knew that they were both thinking the same thing. It was the same thing they thought every time Tim acted strangely.

_What if it's permanent?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky walked to Tim's office door, wondering what he'd see inside. For Ziva to sound as unsettled as she did, it must be out-of-the-ordinary. Tony was often still unsettled, but Ziva had accepted Tim's changes with much more equanimity.

He knocked.

No answer.

That was normal.

Ducky opened the door, and what he saw was _not_ normal. Tim was sitting on the floor with his arms around Jethro, his face buried in his dog's fur.

"Timothy?"

Tim sat up and looked at him. Ducky understood why Tony and Ziva had been so disturbed. There was a different look than the other times that Tim had become unsettled by things. He did seem genuinely disturbed.

"Timothy, what's wrong?"

"I just can't settle and I had such a hard time getting here today."

"Why didn't you call anyone for help?"

"I brought Jethro," Tim said. "I needed Jethro with me. I couldn't... Last night...I..."

"What?"

Tim looked away and buried his face in Jethro's fur again. Jethro whined and tried to nuzzle Tim. He seemed especially concerned for his master.

"Timothy, remember that you can trust us."

Tim said nothing but then, he looked up.

"It's like I was somewhere else all night only I don't know where and I don't remember it and...and I feel so lost and...and... I needed to have my routine. I needed it."

Ducky didn't understand exactly what Tim was saying. It sounded like a particularly disturbing nightmare, but it wasn't Tim's usual nightmare of the shooting.

He got down on the floor to be on the same level...since Tim seemed disinclined to stand up.

"Timothy, what is it that disturbed you so much?"

"A gun, Ducky," Tim whispered. "It was a gun. A gun at my head."

"A dream, then?" Ducky asked. That sounded more like what he'd expected.

"I don't know. I don't know anymore, Ducky."

Ducky sat beside Tim and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. To his surprise, Tim leaned on him, closed his eyes and started to cry. Back when he was still actively recovering, Tim had cried a lot. He hadn't been able to hold back the feeling and whenever it was present, he had cried. Over time, he had regained his ability to control those inclinations, but it seemed that he had momentarily lost it again.

"It's all right, Timothy. It's all right. We'll help you get through it."

Tim didn't seem to believe him. He didn't relax or stop crying for a few minutes. Ducky was worried about this regression, but he hoped it would be temporary. He stayed on the floor beside Tim until there was some relaxation.

"Will you be all right, Timothy?"

"Maybe."

"You'll need a ride home?"

Tim nodded.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to stay with someone for a few days."

Tim shook his head.

"No. I need to be home."

"Very well, but keep it in mind."

Tim nodded.

"I can do it, now, Ducky," Tim said.

He sat up and got to his feet. Then, he looked down and put out his hand to help Ducky stand. Ducky was happy for the assistance.

"Are you sure you're all right, Timothy?"

"I'm better."

"Are you certain?"

Tim nodded and sat at his computer. Tim had often seemed to set things aside very easily. Ducky hoped that was the case this time. He would let Tim get back to his routine, but they'd have to keep an eye on him to make sure that this really was a temporary situation. It was worse than he'd seen for a while and the last thing they'd want was for Tim to fall back into it.

"If you need more help, Timothy, you know you can ask."

"I know."

Jethro put his head on Tim's knee and started panting. If Ducky could read the emotions of a dog with any skill at all, Jethro still seemed upset.

But Tim had gone to his computer and started working on a request from Cybercrimes.

It seemed to be over. ...for now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Are you sure that you'll be able to figure out what Allen has hidden on his site?" Agent Russell asked.

"Absolutely, sir," Mike said. "Chayce and I have figured out the pattern. We just need to have the time to follow it to open up everything."

"Okay. We've got the time now, but I can't guarantee that NCIS won't put up a fight to get it back. You get this done as fast as you can and it'll stay with us."

"Will do."

"Oh, and Mike?"

Mike paused as he started to stand.

"Yes, sir?"

"When you get through, you tell _me_. No one else. We don't know what's going to be on that site and it wouldn't do to spread it around."

"Of course, sir. Thank you for the chance, sir."

"Dismissed."

Mike let himself out of Agent Russell's office, only barely hiding his glee. His plan was working perfectly! He and Chayce would be rising through the ranks in no time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs decided that he would be the one to take Tim home. Ducky had described Tim's seeming reticence to explain. Was it the same problem they always had of Tim being unable to explain himself or was it something else?

For not the first time, Gibbs regretted that Tim was isolated in that small office. It was a necessity because of the difficulties Tim had in focusing on tasks when there were too many distractions, but he spent so much of the day by himself. It just felt wrong.

He knocked on the door.

No response. That was normal.

He tried the knob.

It was locked.

That was different.

He knocked again, a little louder.

"McGee! Open the door!"

There was a silence and then he heard movement. The door opened. Tim was standing there with an expression Gibbs couldn't identify.

"I heard you knock," he said. "I didn't want to answer."

"Why not, McGee?"

Tim looked down and Jethro who had started whining again.

"How do you know what's real and what's not?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know...sometimes, you have a dream that seems so real, but then, you wake up and it's not real at all...no matter how real it seemed. How do you tell? I mean...what if this was a dream?"

"It's not."

"But how do you tell?" Tim asked plaintively.

He looked up at Gibbs and there was real distress in his eyes.

"Tim, what is this about?"

"How would I know if what I think happened last night really happened?"

"What do you think happened?"

"I went somewhere. I don't know how I got there and I don't know where it was, but I was there for a long time. ...and then, I was standing at my door."

Gibbs considered. It sure sounded like a dream to him, but it was clear that Tim was bothered by it.

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"Because it was all night! Because it wasn't my routine! Because...because I don't know what I did or why or how or... Am I crazy?"

"No." That was the easy part to answer. "Tim...it sounds like a dream. Maybe it was. If it happens again, tell us, but it sounds like a dream."

"It felt like a dream...a nightmare. I hated it."

"Do you want to stay somewhere else for a few days?"

Tim shook his head.

"You can, Tim. It's nothing wrong with you if you need that."

Tim shook his head again.

"Are you sure?"

Tim nodded.

"You ready to go?"

Another nod. Gibbs noticed that Jethro didn't seem to be any calmer than Tim was. As they left the office, Jethro was in constant contact with Tim, as if he was guiding Tim to where he needed to go.

They left and Tim kept his eyes closed for the whole trip. Jethro was in the back seat, but he'd reached his head forward so that he could rest it on Tim's shoulder.

When they got to Tim's apartment, Tim opened the car door and then stopped and looked up.

"Are you sure you want to stay here, Tim?"

Tim nodded again. He got out of the car and then stopped again.

"Jethro?" he called.

Gibbs opened the door and watched as Tim's dog ran over to his master and stayed right beside him while they walked into the building. He was a little worried, but he hoped that Tim would be all right. If Tim wanted to maintain his independence, Gibbs wasn't going to force him to accept a shift in location if he didn't want it.

For now, he had to go back to NCIS and see if they could figure out what had caused the sudden change in the FBI's position.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked into his apartment and looked down at Jethro.

"If it's real they're going to come back, Jethro, and I'll have to go with them. I can't say no...not with the gun. So you'll have to stay and I'll have to go. If it's real. Gibbs thinks it's a dream. Maybe it is."

Jethro whined at him...and then, when there was a knock at the door, he started to growl. Tim didn't want to open the door, but he felt as though he had no choice. They could shoot through the door. They could kill him.

He walked over and opened the door.

There they were.

They had the gun.

"Let's go," one said.

Jethro was growling.

"We can shoot the dog, too."

"Stay, Jethro," Tim managed to say without taking his eyes off the gun.

Then, they left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

For the rest of the week, Tim became more and more strange, disconnected. He got rides with people to and from work. He was on edge all the time, but he was working fine. He just was losing his ability to interact normally. They tried to talk to him, but it went nowhere and Tim refused to accept staying anywhere but at his own place. Even when Abby offerred to stay with him at his apartment, Tim said no, insisting that he just needed his routine. The problem was that his routine didn't seem to be helping him at all. After Tim left on Thursday evening, they decided that if he was the same on Friday, they were going to insist that Tim stay with one of them and that he get some extra help with whatever was wrong.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I'm in," Tim said. "The encryption..."

Mike let out a whoop of triumph and pulled out his phone to call Agent Russell. It was after midnight, but he figured that this kind of breakthrough would be welcome at any hour given how determined Agent Russell had been to keep this an FBI case.

Chayce wasn't quite so happy. He had started noticing how terrified Tim was, and that just didn't seem like the right thing to do, even if they were still solving a case. They were doing it this way so that they got the credit for what Tim was doing. It wasn't as much about the case as it was about furthering their careers. He wasn't sure that karma wouldn't pop up and make them regret it. No matter what Mike said, this sure _felt_ wrong.

"Yes, Agent Russell, I know it's really late, but we got in! We broke the encryption!"

Chayce saw Tim shaking. He hadn't protested. He hadn't said anything beyond answering the questions they asked. ...but what were they doing to him?

Mike hung up.

"We did it, Chayce!" he said. "We did it! All that planning and it's worked just liked I said it would."

"At what cost?" Chayce asked. "Look at him! It's wrong. It's wrong and you know it."

"Oh, come on. A couple of days and he'll be back to normal. We'll leave him to wander around. He won't remember us and it will all be a bad dream."

"Dreams..." Tim whispered.

"I don't know, Mike. I just... I don't like it."

"You always say that. Look, when Agent Russell gets here, we'll have everything we've wanted and you'll stop complaining, then."

Tim was sitting there, looking at the screen.

"Russell," he said softly. "He's the one Allen was hiding from."

"What?" Mike asked.

Tim pointed at the screen and spoke woodenly.

"Allen was a hacker. He found out that Russell was smuggling, that he'd pinned a murder on someone else. He got as much evidence as he could because he didn't think anyone would believe him since he was hacking."

Chayce moved Tim aside and looked the newly decrypted site. It was all there. Details about how Russell had smuggled data and laundered money using FBI resources and had pinned it on an earlier suspect who had been killed in the crossfire.

"Mike, he's right. Look at this."

"No. No _way_."

"Mike! You just told Agent Russell that..."

There was a sound outside the room. Chayce looked at Mike and then at Tim.

There was silence...for a few seconds.

Then, someone started firing right through the door. Tim shouted out and dove to the floor, covering his head and screaming. It was quite a shock to have someone who had been as silent as the dead suddenly reacting like he was dying.

Then, there was a sound, something Chayce had never heard before. He turned around and saw Mike standing in front of the door. He staggered backwards, turned around and gasped for breath. Then, he coughed and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

He started to speak, but then, he collapsed to the floor and was still. Chayce was frozen in place for a moment. This was not ever in the plans that Mike had made. Ever.

...but now, he had a choice. Mike was dead. They were coming in. Maybe he could get rid of some of his bad karma by trying to save the innocent person in all this. He spun back around, grabbed Tim from his huddled position on the floor and dragged him to the fire escape, forcing him to walk, to crawl, whatever would get him moving.

"Go!" he said. "Get out."

Tim just looked at him. There was no reason in his eyes. He was terrified beyond all reason.

The gunfire started up again and Tim cowered and screamed once more.

"You can get away from the guns if you run!"

Then, Chayce felt a searing pain in his back. He fell to his knees.

"Please...go..."

The last thing he saw before the black closed in on his vision was Tim backing away from him, still looking more crazed than anything.

It was the best he could do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Steps. Steps. That's all there was, but he managed to close his ears to the gunfire. It took every ounce of strength he had left, and he had to leave behind everything else he knew. He couldn't think of anything else. Only one thought could be in his mind. All he knew now was that he had to run. Run down the steps. Down the steps until the point at which he couldn't see any more steps. He was on the ground! He started to run and run. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, but he was listening to the last thing he'd heard. If he ran he'd get away from the guns. That was all that mattered. If he ran he'd get away from the guns.

He looked around once, but then, the rain and thunder started and it scared him again. He kept running to get away.

That was all he could think of.

He wanted to get away.

Away from the guns.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_The next morning..._

Fornell sighed as he looked around the small apartment. He hadn't known the two FBI agents who had been killed, but any time he had to investigate the death of one of his own, he wasn't happy about it.

He knelt down by one of the bodies.

"Sacks?"

"Michael Blair. Hired last year. Low-level agent, nothing extraordinary about him. He did some computer work, but he hadn't shown much potential in that area although he wanted to. Applied for it multiple times."

Fornell nodded and walked over to the other body by the door.

"Looks like this one almost got out."

"Chayce Wheeler," Sacks said. "About the same as Blair, really. They were both hired about the same time. They worked together some."

"And why are they both dead here? Were they working on anything dangerous?"

Sacks sighed. "Not according to their files. They were barely taken out into the field. Neither had shown much skill in that regard."

"How in the world did they get hired, then?"

"Hard workers, both of them. Their evaluations are full of comments about how hard they both worked."

Fornell nodded. There was a place in the FBI for agents who could work hard, even if they weren't going to excel.

"Okay. We need to get this whole scene processed. I don't want to miss anything. I don't think it was a coincidence that they were killed here. We're not going to let this go."

"Right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He stumbled across a road, still running although it was a slow pace at this point. There was a drizzle of rain that hadn't stopped. He was soaked to the skin, trembling and still terrified that he might be pursued.

Suddenly, he was at a river.

A river.

He could hear the water moving and he liked it. He stumbled down to the edge of the river and crouched down beside it.

Water.

He liked water.

He sat down in the mud. He could stay here. He couldn't hear anyone coming after him. He didn't know where he was, but there were no guns here.

It felt safe.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was after nine, and Tim wasn't there. They knew it because they'd all gone up to check. Gibbs had called and now, he was getting ready to go to Tim's apartment to find out what was going on.

He was just about to leave when the elevator dinged open and Fornell stormed off.

"Where's Agent McGee?" he demanded.

"I don't know, Fornell. What's going on?" Gibbs asked.

"Two agents were killed last night, Gibbs, and McGee was involved somehow."

"Involved?" Tony repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"His fingerprints were at the scene," Fornell said. "If his fingerprints were there, so was he."

"Who were they?" Ziva asked.

"Two new agents. My people, Gibbs," Fornell said. "Some of _my_ people were killed. If your agent was involved, I want to know why!"

Gibbs looked at Tony.

"Go to McGee's apartment. If he's there, bring him here."

"On it, Boss," Tony said, nodding.

"You're not hiding him?" Fornell asked.

"You shouldn't have to ask that, Fornell!" Tony protested.

"You guys are as thick as thieves and more devious. You're also very protective of McGee ever since he got shot."

"We're not hiding him anywhere," Gibbs said sternly.

"We were getting worried about him," Ziva said. "He has not come in yet today. We have not seen him since yesterday."

"We were getting worried about him yesterday, too," Tony said. "He's been acting strange all week."

"Strange in what way?" Fornell asked.

"He said that things were weird for him," Ziva said. "We do not know exactly what that means when he says it, but he was getting rides to and from work."

"He was having a hard time deciding what was real and what was a dream," Gibbs added. "Tobias, if you're going to accuse an NCIS agent of abetting a murder..."

"I want to know why he was there and what he saw and, if he wasn't involved, what was going on."

"Fine. Then, _ask_ that," Gibbs said. He looked at Tony again. "Are you still here, DiNozzo?"

"Nope. Gone, Boss," Tony said and hurried to the elevator.

"Good. You want to show us what's going on, Fornell?" Gibbs asked.

"Fine. Yeah. If your man is missing, it could be something else. We don't know why they were there."

"Where?" Ziva asked.

"An FBI safehouse, actually, one we haven't used in a while because we thought it might be compromised. These two agents were relatively new and they hadn't been assigned any dangerous tasks. They weren't trusted that much yet."

"Who are they?"

"Chayce Wheeler and Michael Blair. Pretty nondescript guys, if you ask me. ...until now. Now, we don't know why they were killed at an FBI safehouse, what they were doing there..."

"...or why an NCIS agent was there, too."

"Exactly."

"Where's Sacks?"

"Outside. I wasn't sure I could trust him to be civil with DiNozzo, and I wasn't in the mood for that kind of distraction."

Gibbs smiled a little. "Okay. Get him in here. Ziva, you work with Sacks. Get up to speed with their case...if you don't mind, Tobias."

"I don't mind. You don't think McGee is going to be at home?"

"No, I don't. I think that the only way Tim wouldn't make it here if he were deathly ill or..."

"...dead," Ziva whispered.

"We need to tell Vance about this, Gibbs," Fornell said.

"Yeah."

They went up the stairs to tell Vance about the potential problem.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was so cold, but he didn't dare go anywhere else. He was hiding in the bushes by the running water. He hadn't seen anyone and that was good. He still didn't know what to do about getting away from the guns. As long as he was by the water, he couldn't hear the guns. That was good.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony walked up the stairs to Tim's apartment, key in hand. Tim wasn't going to be home. He was sure of it. He _hoped_ that Tim wasn't home because Tony couldn't imagine that Tim would be home and all right. Not so that he'd be more than an hour late for work. There were other possibilities for where Tim could be...like stuck on the Metro. That hadn't ever happened before, but Tim had confessed that there were times he had a hard time paying attention to where he was. With all the troubles he'd been having this week, Tony could believe that might happen. It was better than the alternative, anyway.

He knocked on the door.

No answer, but he heard Jethro barking, and there was a distinctly-anxious tinge to it. Quickly, Tony unlocked the door and then, was nearly knocked over by Jethro jumped on him...but the attack didn't last long. Jethro was quickly convinced that Tony wasn't who he wanted.

Instantly, Tony was even more worried. They knew that Jethro had almost taken on a nursemaid role with Tim. If Jethro was anxious like this, then, something must have happened. Tony looked at Jethro and made a decision. He walked into the apartment, looked around, saw no signs of struggle, and grabbed Jethro's leash.

"Jethro, let's go."

Jethro whined at him but allowed Tony to clip on the leash.

They left the apartment and Jethro, only reluctantly, got into Tony's car. Then, Tony drove them back to NCIS, hoping that they'd had some ideas.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How much danger do you think that Agent McGee might be in?" Vance asked.

"Depending on the reasons for the murders," Fornell said, "I'd say that there could be a lot of risk to him. Honestly, he could be dead already...if he's an innocent in this and..."

"He's not the reason your men are dead, Tobias," Gibbs said. "Tim can't tolerate even handling a gun, let alone _shooting_ one, anymore. ...and we're not assuming he's dead until we have evidence of it."

"Okay," Vance interrupted. "I want to know where Agent McGee is, too. NCIS will work with the FBI...with your permission, Agent Fornell."

"I'd better not see any signs of a cover-up if the evidence leads us in a direction Gibbs doesn't like. I don't want anything to happen to Agent McGee, either, but if he's involved..."

"While I would say that you should take his injuries into account, we won't cover up for him if he's guilty of anything, Agent Fornell. _However_, don't convict him without a trial. Whatever problems Agent McGee still has as a result of his injury, he is not a murderer."

"Understood," Fornell said.

Gibbs thought about what had been going on. He looked at Fornell.

"The Allen case?"

"Wheeler and Blair weren't assigned to the Allen case. That's Agent Russell's case, and he wouldn't risk something that important on two nobodies."

"But that's the only sensitive thing McGee was working on."

"You think there's no other reason?"

"I don't know, Tobias. I'd rather we find McGee being fine, but with what you're saying, it sounds bad."

"Let's get started then."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva looked at the pictures.

"These are the two agents?" she asked.

"Yeah. I was there, Agent David," Sacks said. "I saw their bodies."

"I did not mean to offend you," Ziva said quickly. She wouldn't worry about it in other situations, but in this case, she wanted to find where Tim was more than she wanted to antagonize Sacks.

"Yeah, sure," Sacks grumbled.

"I have seen this man before," she said, pointing to Chayce. "Tim said that he was watching him."

"Watching him? Sounds a little paranoid to me," Sacks said.

"How much he was watching, I do not know," Ziva said, "but you do not understand how much more Tim notices when he wants to. He has difficulty in public situations because there is so much going on. He will focus on one person and it is hard for him to stop staring. He mentioned seeing this man all around him at different times. Why would an FBI agent be watching an NCIS agent?" she asked pointedly.

"Good question, Tobias," Gibbs said from behind them.

"How sure are you?" Fornell asked Ziva.

"Positive that this is the man Tim pointed out to us," Ziva said. "However, I cannot say how often. Only Tim could and he did not. It was one of those things he did not consider important enough to think about."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that Tim doesn't think the same way as he did. He can't make the same connections. Either everything is important or nothing is," Gibbs said.

The elevator dinged and Tony got off with Jethro reluctantly in tow.

"McGee wasn't home, and based on Jethro's whining, he hasn't _been_ home for a while...or else he was taken by force somewhere. He's definitely not home and there wasn't a struggle inside."

"In the hallway?" Ziva asked.

"Not that I saw."

"One of the agents who was killed is one that Tim saw around him."

Tony furrowed his brow.

"Really?" He thought for a second and then, his eyes widened. "Hey...if I'm right about what I'm about to say, I feel like the biggest idiot ever."

"What?" Ziva asked.

"We're all idiots," Tony said.

"Get on with it, DiNozzo," Sacks said, rolling his eyes.

"No one asked you, Slacks."

_Thwack!_

"What is it, Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"Tim said he felt like he'd gone somewhere all night and that he didn't know where he was. What if he really _was_ taken by these two guys and he just couldn't explain himself to us? And we just didn't give it the attention we should have."

"Why would Wheeler and Blair _take_ Agent McGee to that safehouse?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Fornell.

"You said that they weren't trusted with important stuff yet," Gibbs said. "They wanted to be in the computer stuff."

"You really think that they'd be willing to abduct a fellow agent just to advance their careers?" Fornell asked.

"You really think that federal agents are somehow immune from the kinds of things we see every day?" Gibbs asked in return.

"What do you want to do, Boss?"

Gibbs looked at Jethro.

"We know that McGee was at the safehouse."

"Yeah?"

"We have his dog here."

"Yeah. We do," Tony said.

"Fornell?"

"We want to find him, too," Fornell said. "If he knows anything, we want to know, too."

"All right. Let's go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He was cold, but he was happy with the sound of the water. He was beginning to forget why he'd been afraid before. As long as he stayed here, he'd be fine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It took some doing to persuade Jethro to go with them when he could smell Tim's presence in the building. In the end, Gibbs took the dog up to Tim's office so that he could see that Tim wasn't there after all and then, with tail drooping, Jethro allowed himself to be led to the car.

They headed straight for the safehouse, with Fornell and Sacks leading the way. As soon as they let Jethro out of the car, his ears perked up and he pulled them into the apartment building, his nose to the floor...right up to the door of the safehouse. Fornell raised an eyebrow and opened the door. Jethro pulled Gibbs along and they got ahead. Whining loudly, Jethro moved to the first bloodstain. Unsatisfied, he sniffed his way to the computer. Then, he headed to the other bloodstain, the one by the window to the fire escape.

Then...he started tugging to go out the window to the fire escape.

"He went out the window," Tony said. "That's where one of them died?"

"Yeah," Fornell said. "He almost made it out."

"Perhaps he died trying to get Tim out," Ziva said.

"Yeah, after taking him here," Tony said. "I'm not sure I'm all that impressed."

"You don't know what happened yet, DiNozzo," Sacks said.

Before he could say more, Fornell interrupted.

"We're not going to start this," he said. "He's got the scent, let's follow it."

Jethro was still tugging on the leash, trying to get out.

"Okay, Jethro. Let's go."

Gibbs followed him out onto the fire escape. The others were coming along behind, but Gibbs was paying attention to where Jethro was going. It had been raining. Not hard, just enough to cool things down. If Tim was outside somewhere, though, that could be bad for him. Obviously, he hadn't been found yet...alive, anyway.

Jethro slipped a little on the metal steps, but he didn't let that stop him. He had Tim's scent and he wasn't going to be kept away from him any longer than necessary. Gibbs kept a strong grip on the leash, afraid that if he let go, Jethro would dash off, leaving them all behind.

They kept going, first along the sidewalks, for more than a mile. They were walking toward the Potomac. If Tim were free to go where he wanted, why would he walk further away from the people who could help him? Even if he were disoriented, as happened to him sometimes, why would he head for relatively empty locales instead of getting help? If he wasn't free...why would his captors _take_ him this way...if he was alive.

Gibbs didn't want to think it, but he couldn't help but do so.

Were they about to discover a body? Had Tim survived a bullet to the head only to be killed because of someone from the FBI taking him?

Jethro suddenly yanked on the leash. Gibbs wasn't ready for it and he lost his grip on it. He spared only a second to look back at the others and then took off after the dog. Jethro started barking sharply and Gibbs increased his pace. The ground declined to the river level. Thankfully, at this time of year, the river was lower and wherever Jethro had gone, it wasn't necessarily _into_ the river.

Gibbs broke through the trees and saw Jethro's tail wagging. That was all he could see of the dog, but he could hear Jethro whining. He hurried over and knelt down. When he pushed back the branches, his heart was in his throat for a moment.

Tim was lying motionless on the ground. Jethro was licking his face and whining.

"Tim," Gibbs said.

No response.

He reached out and touched Tim. He wasn't ready for the reaction he got. He hadn't actually expected a reaction at all.

What he got was a whimper and Tim pulling away from him, further into the bushes.

"Tim, it's Gibbs. You're all right."

No reply to that statement. Gibbs may as well not have spoken. Tim was still crawling away from him.

"Tim!" Gibbs said again.

This time, he grabbed Tim's arm to keep him from moving away. Tim let out a strangled scream and redoubled his efforts to escape. Gibbs pulled Tim out of the bushes and turned him over.

"Tim, snap out of it!" he said.

There was no sanity in Tim's eyes. He was out of his mind with terror. He was also shaking. Gibbs could feel how cold Tim was.

"Can't hear it. I can't hear it," he whispered. "I won't hear it. I won't. I can't. It's not... I can't..."

"Hear what?" Gibbs asked.

But whatever it was that Tim couldn't hear, he didn't seem able to hear anything else, either. The one relief was that Tim didn't seem to be injured. Whatever had done this to him, it wasn't injury.

"Tony," Gibbs said.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. Call for an ambulance." He looked at Jethro who was whining anxiously. "And let them know that Jethro will be going along with him."

Tony looked at Jethro and nodded without comment. Gibbs returned his attention to Tim. The others could take care of themselves. Tim couldn't.

"Tim, can you hear me?"

Tim lifted his hands and covered the scar on his head with his palms. Then, he closed his eyes tightly and started mumbling unintelligibly. That was a bad sign. Tim hadn't done that since he thought he was dead after he got shot.

"Come on, Tim. Don't do this again."

No response. Gibbs tried to pull Tim's hands down from his head, but Tim was too tense for it unless Gibbs wanted to force him.

"They're coming," Tony said. "What do we do, Boss? What's wrong with him?"

"We have to be here," Ziva said.

"Don't know what's wrong," Gibbs said. "He's...gone."

Tony knelt down, too, and Tim's mumbling increased in volume. Jethro started whining again.

"Tim, it's okay," he said awkwardly. "No one is going to hurt you. It's all right now."

No response.

"What's going on?" Sacks asked.

"Something happened," Ziva said. "Who knows...besides Tim."

"You sure it's not just an act?"

Tony turned around to confront Sacks, but Gibbs held him back.

"Yes, we're sure," Gibbs said. "Fornell, you'll have to wait."

"Understood."

The ambulance came, and in spite of some unexpected resistance, Tim was taken away with Jethro in tow.

Tony suddenly spun on Sacks and Fornell.

"What in the world did you people do to him?" he demanded. "Tim hasn't been this messed up since right after he got shot in the head! What did it take for you FBI idiots to tear him down until he can't even acknowledge reality? Huh? What did you do?"

"_We_ didn't do anything," Fornell said mildly. "Whatever happened to your agent has nothing to do with us."

"Yeah, you're pretty quick to lay the blame on him," Tony spat back. "But when it comes to it being something _you_ people did, you're quick to put limits down, aren't you."

"Tony!" Ziva said. "This is not helping. Whatever happened...unless we can find evidence, it will have to wait until Tim can tell us. ...and he _will_. I will not believe that he will be stuck like this. He was not before. He will recover this time, too."

"He almost killed himself last time," Tony said.

"He won't this time," Gibbs said. "We'll make sure of that. ...but if it _does_ come down to your agents doing this to him, Fornell..."

The warning didn't need to be made explicit. Nor did Fornell need to acknowledge it, and he didn't. The warning was received and understood.

For now, there was something else that needed to be done. They had found Tim, and now they needed to tell his family what little they knew.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The water was gone and Jethro was gone. Reality was swirling around in his head. He felt like he was falling off the edge of the world. There was so much noise, voices that he couldn't understand and didn't know. He didn't know how to find his way back after they took him from the calm of the water. He didn't know where he was once Jethro vanished into that swirling insanity.

He had started to fight to get back to something that made sense, something that would rescue him from continuing to fall into a void.

But it didn't work. He suddenly couldn't move at all, but even completely still, he felt as though he was falling off the edge of the world. Swirling, falling, lost in a miasma. He cried out for help, but he couldn't hear any response.

Eventually, darkness started to take over his mind. He fought against falling into that darkness, but it spread and thickened until he was lost in it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's eyes closed and the nurse on duty removed the restraints.

"He should sleep for hours now."

Tony nodded mutely.

"Until we can get through to him, this is best," she said.

"Yeah."

The nurse smiled sympathetically and let herself out of the room. Tim had been fully restrained on the bed. He had been fighting the staff when they arrived. Nothing anyone had said had got through the strange panic that gripped him. It wasn't like when he had suffered from Cotard's delusion. It was more like his reaction after Jimmy had kept him from jumping off the roof. Gibbs and Ziva were waiting for Tim's parents to get there. Abby and Ducky were, unfortunately, still working.

That left Tony alone with Tim, wondering how the equilibrium they'd found in life post shooting had vanished so quickly. One week and it was all gone. Tim was back in the hospital, in the psychiatric ward. He'd had minor hypothermia and dehydration, but otherwise was uninjured. It wasn't fair. Tony hated to see Tim this way. It was hard to see beyond the scar that still graced Tim's forehead. It was hard to see the Tim who was so different from the Tim he'd been before. He saw things differently. He reacted differently. ...and how different he was now showed up all too clearly.

"Tim...I don't know what happened, but you don't have to hide. You aren't in danger. You're okay. Please, don't let this happen to you again. I don't know what to do to help you. I didn't before, and I really don't now."

Tim didn't respond, of course. He was unconscious. Sedated. Because he was essentially insane.

Why?

It wasn't fair.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One day later..._

Abby looked at Tim's sleeping form and wondered why he had become so disoriented. Tim's parents were taking a dinner break and Abby was trying to think of something brilliant to do to fix Tim, to make him better, to bring him back

Jethro had been so miserable and anxious that Abby had snuck him into her apartment and was letting him sleep on her bed. Even so, it hadn't removed the clear anxiety the dog was feeling. Tim had said that they took care of each other.

...and then, suddenly, there it was. Brilliance.

She got to her feet and walked out of the room, on the hunt for Dr. Khalid.

She found him fairly quickly since he was on his way to check on Tim.

"Dr. Khalid, we need to bring Tim's dog here," she said without any greeting.

"What?"

"Tim needs Jethro...his dog," Abby said again. "Tim told me before that they took care of each other. Once, when Tim was having one of his bad days, I saw him calm down almost immediately when he got home and Jethro was there. I don't know why Jethro does that for him, but he does...and Tim needs that! Please? I know it's against hospital rules to have pets inside, but please? Can't we just try it for a couple of days and see if it helps? Nothing else has and you can't just keep putting him to sleep to keep him calm!"

Dr. Khalid raised an eyebrow.

"I know you're trying, too," Abby said quickly, not wanting to antagonize him. "But here's something we haven't tried yet...and I've seen it work before."

"When Tim was having a bad day. That's not what this is. This is a mental breakdown."

"I know, but...but pets help people emotionally all the time. And Tim has used Jethro to be a kind of guide dog for him. Even when things were getting worse, having Jethro around helped him. Can't we try it?"

Dr. Khalid was silent for a few seconds, considering what she was asking for.

"Are all his shots current?"

"Absolutely. Tim never skimps on that."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Can you keep control of him in the hallways so that he doesn't bother other patients?"

"Yes."

"If he goes into Tim's room, will he try to get out during the night?"

"I don't think he'd leave Tim's side if he were let in, but Jethro doesn't open doors on his own. So...as long as the door was kept closed."

Dr. Khalid sighed.

"Get him professionally groomed and cleaned. What kind of dog is he?"

"A German shepherd."

"Okay. Do that and I'll let you try it out for a day or two. If there's any improvement, we'll keep the dog with Tim as long as necessary, but if he misbehaves, bothers other patients..."

"He's a very well-behaved dog!" Abby said.

"He's also an animal, and even the best-behaved animal can have bad behaviors, especially in an unfamiliar setting."

"I can't guarantee it one hundred percent, Dr. Khalid," Abby said. "But the only time Jethro _ever_ misbehaved was when he'd been given drugs. As long as no one does that, he should behave well. He's been trained very well and Tim has kept him trained."

"Very well. I'll clear it with the hospital, let them know you're coming. Check in at the desk when you arrive, go straight to Tim's room, no stops in between, and any sign of misbehavior means he's out. I want to help Tim, too, but I can't overlook all the other patients in this hospital just for one."

Abby wanted to protest, but logically, she knew that was how Dr. Khalid _had_ to think. So she nodded.

"I'll take him to get him cleaned today."

Dr. Khalid smiled.

"I'm sure you will. And I hope it works. Because of Tim's previous delusion, he doesn't react the way I'd expect and there's no telling what will help."

"This will help. I know it will," Abby said and left the hospital. ...hoping that she was right.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Freshly cleaned and groomed, Jethro seemed to realize the importance of good behavior as he trotted beside Abby through the hospital to Tim's room. He had never stepped so carefully. Not a single tug on the leash. Abby had explained everything to him, but she wasn't sure just how much the dog had understood beyond perhaps Tim's name. Maybe that was enough. He had shown only anxiety since Tim's disappearance and then being kept from him.

Abby led Jethro to the door of Tim's room and she opened the door. As soon as she did, Jethro pulled away from her and jumped onto the bed. He started licking Tim's face, whining as he did so. Tim's eyes had been closed. He'd been sedated, but they were letting the sedatives wear off in the hopes that Jethro would do what Abby had said he could.

Tim's eyes fluttered open and then closed again.

Jethro gave another whine and then settled down on the bed beside Tim, his head on Tim's chest.

Tim didn't move, didn't get up like Abby had hoped, but Tim didn't freak out again like he had been. He stayed remarkably calm, even though he didn't open his eyes. In fact, he was clearly conscious, but he was relaxed. Jethro also calmed down as he lay beside Tim. Every so often he'd let out a little whine, but it was soft and he didn't do anything more than that.

Abby sat with them for a couple of hours. Nothing. Jethro was right beside Tim and didn't move away, not once.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was something different. Something that made him feel like he could open his eyes. A weight on his chest. A good weight.

He opened his eyes and saw a ceiling above him. He wasn't sure what that meant. Safety? Could it mean that the guns were gone? No more shooting?

"Tim?"

Why did he feel safe?

A whine. That was something he recognized. An anxious bark. Wetness on his face.

_A dog. My dog._

He blinked a few times and then turned his head slowly toward the sound.

There was a big dog nose right in his face. It was so surprising that he found himself sitting up before he even realized that he _could_ do that.

There was Jethro, panting at him, sitting on the bed. But it wasn't _his_ bed. Where was he? He looked around. He started to feel worried again.

"Tim? Can you hear me?"

There was a voice. He recognized the voice. It was a good voice. A safe voice. He started to relax again. He looked away from Jethro and toward the voice on the other side of the bed.

"Tony."

"Yeah, Probie. You back with us, then?"

"Where am I?"

"Hospital."

"Oh. Why? Am I hurt?"

Tony's face showed concern.

"Do you not remember anything that happened?"

"I don't know if I want to, Tony," Tim said. He started to feel anxious again.

Jethro nudged him and Tim hugged his dog tightly. More details were coming back to him, but they weren't clear. They were just frightening. More than anything else...a sound. A horrible, horrible sound.

"Okay. I think it can wait. I'm just glad to have you back."

"There was...a shot...lots of shots," Tim whispered.

"Yeah. We figured you were there and that's what made you disconnect like you did."

"Oh."

Tim buried his face in Jethro's fur for a few minutes. He didn't want to hear shots again. He didn't want to get shot again. The last time had almost killed him, had disconnected his brain, had made him strange and unfamiliar. He didn't want those shots again.

Jethro whined again.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you feeling?"

"I don't know. It's all...fuzzy, but I'm afraid to have it be clear, Tony. I don't remember coming here, but there are...things...things that..."

"It's okay," Tony said quickly. Too quickly.

"No, it isn't," Tim whispered.

"It is. Really. We're just glad that you're okay."

"But am I?" Tim wasn't sure about that.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"You will be."

Jethro whined and whuffled in Tim's face. Tim remembered the gunshots and he closed his eyes and whimpered.

"There was a gun. There was a gun."

"It's all right, Tim. Just set it aside for now. You don't have to go back to it right away."

But Tim did. He had no choice but to see it all again. See the gun. See the...

He screwed his eyes tightly closed and started to cry. He covered his scar with his hands.

"There was a gun!"

Jethro's whining increased in volume, too.

"I heard it!" He was starting to feel that same terror he'd felt before.

Then, there were two hands on his arms, anchoring him to the earth, keeping him from falling, from being shot again. Still, he was afraid. He couldn't focus. He couldn't listen. He couldn't think. The world was starting to spiral away again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony could see that Tim was heading back to his insanity, and he really didn't want that to happen. Not again...especially not while he was there staring at him.

"Tim, I know you're scared. I know, and even if I don't understand why, I know that you are, but I know that you're safe! No guns, no bullets. No one is trying to hurt you here. Please...Please, don't fall back again. I just don't...know what to do to help you. I really want to, but I don't."

"Shooting at me! The gun was shooting. I couldn't think! I couldn't...I... A voice telling me to run. I couldn't do anything."

Jethro started to whine more loudly.

Tony was worried. If someone complained about Jethro, they'd likely make the dog leave and, right now, he seemed to be the only one anchoring Tim to reality.

"Quiet, Jethro," he said. "Tim, you're upsetting your dog!"

He didn't expect that to make any difference, but Tim looked at him and then at Jethro and grabbed him and hugged him again.

"I don't want to get shot again! I don't want to be killed again!"

"Not again, Tim," Tony corrected quickly. "Remember. You didn't die the first time."

Tim was as close to genuinely crazy as Tony had seen him in a long time.

"Please, Tim. Don't do this. Don't go there. You don't have to. You're fine now. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to shoot you. You're fine."

Tim started crying again, and Jethro began licking his face.

Tony didn't know what to do. He really wished that someone else was here because they would know better how to deal with this, how to break through Tim's mindless terror. Tony just had no idea what to do...but he knew he had to do something. Tim wasn't going to get through this without someone on the outside of it helping him.

He looked back to the door, hoping that someone would be there...but no such luck. Then, he remembered seeing Tim's mom calming him down when he'd freaked out after he'd tried to jump off the roof. He felt really awkward about this, but he got up and sat down on bed.

He hesitated and then put his hand over Tim's scar. Tim shuddered, and Tony almost took his hand away, but then, he seemed to calm down just a bit.

Tony didn't know what Tim was thinking, but _he_ was thinking how weird this was.

Still, no matter how hard this was for him, Tim was his friend and he wasn't going to let his discomfort stop him from trying to help. He slid his arm around Tim's shoulders but kept his hand on Tim's forehead.

"Listen to me, Tim. You're safe. I don't know what all happened there, but I know that you're safe now. You just need to hear what I'm saying and believe me."

Tim didn't seem to hear him at first, but he had said before that he had a hard time focusing when his emotions were strong. So he kept talking while Tim cried. Then, suddenly, he realized that Tim was starting to relax. He wasn't as tense. Jethro wasn't whining as much. He thought maybe he should say what he'd been saying again.

"You're safe, Tim. You're not in any danger. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you. I promise. You're safe."

Tim took a deep shuddering breath and let it out.

"I had to run," he whispered.

"It's all right. Just let it go for now. Don't think about it if you can't."

"He told me to run."

"I'm glad you did."

"I had to run to get away from the sound."

"Yeah."

"Tony."

"That's me."

Tim's eyes opened and he looked around the room.

"Hospital."

"Yeah, you've been here for a few days."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Tim was quiet for a few seconds. Jethro's whine was very soft now.

"Why?"

"Because you weren't...thinking right."

"Oh."

Another period of quiet.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"No guns?"

"No. No guns." And there wouldn't be until Tim was fully back to himself if Tony could prevent it.

"I was so...afraid. ...the bullets. I didn't want to get shot again."

"I know. It's all right."

"I was...falling off the world again."

"Are you now?"

"No."

"Good."

Tony still felt _really_ awkward about sitting there with his hand covering Tim's scar, but since it seemed to be helping, he wasn't moving it.

Finally, after about half an hour, Tony looked at the door for the millionth time and saw Gibbs in the window. A silent eyebrow raise and Tony nodded.

The door opened and Tim tensed at the sound.

"It's just Gibbs, Tim. It's all right." He looked over and tried for nonchalance. "Hey, Boss."

"Tim?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked over at Gibbs, and Tony knew Tim wasn't feeling weird about how this might look. Tim didn't think about those kinds of things anymore.

"Boss. There were guns."

"Yeah," Gibbs said with more than a little regret.

It was awful that Tim could be driven so close to insanity by something he would have faced down with relative ease before he'd been shot.

"Will you fall if I let you go, Tim?" Tony asked.

"Jethro's here," Tim said softly.

Was that an answer? Tony didn't know, but he carefully freed his arm and took his hand off Tim's forehead. Tim shivered a little, but didn't seem headed for another break down.

"The boss is going to be here until your parents come, okay?" Tony asked.

"Parents?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, they came when they heard what happened."

"Oh." Tim took a deep breath and hugged Jethro again.

"He's still really shaky, Boss," Tony said in a low voice. "I didn't know what else to do."

Gibbs nodded and walked over to sit by Tim. He put his hand on Tim's shoulder and said something quietly. Tim looked at him and nodded. Then, Tim looked at Tony. There was still more than a little bewilderment in his expression, but he managed a weak smile.

"Thanks, Tony."

"No worries, Probie. Just relax."

Tim leaned back without replying.

Tony escaped from the room, although he felt guilty for thinking that way. He was glad that Tim was at least connected to the world around him again, but it was so hard to see him changed that way. It was like going back in time to the second worst part of Tim's recovery. As he headed back to NCIS to check in, he wondered what he'd say when people asked how things were going. An improvement, definitely...but enough of one?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim tried to think through the fuzziness. It was hard, even with Gibbs there keeping him anchored to the world. His eyes were closed tightly.

"Tim, you're all right."

Tim heard him, and suddenly, there was a question in his mind.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked.

There was a sigh.

"No. You're not, Tim."

Tim nodded. "There were guns. Someone shooting at me."

"Just one person? Or more?"

"Lots of shots," Tim said and took a deep breath.

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip.

"None of them hit you, Tim. You're all right."

A whine.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Why am I so afraid?"

"Because you had someone shooting at you. That's hard to deal with."

"For me."

"Yes, for you."

Tim screwed up his courage and opened his eyes. There were no bullets. No guns. Just his dog on the bed and Gibbs sitting beside him.

"I'm still afraid," he said.

"That's all right," Gibbs said, and he seemed sincere.

Tim looked at him and at the room around him.

"I just wanted to get away."

"That's all right," Gibbs said again.

"They kept...taking me away and I couldn't think."

"I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim looked at Gibbs and then back at Jethro.

"Why? Why are you? You weren't there."

"I know, and none of us really listened. We should have. This could have been stopped if we had."

"I couldn't think. I didn't know what to say."

"That's why you're having trouble now, Tim, but you're getting better and that's good."

"Am I crazy?"

"No."

"Okay."

There was a soft laugh.

"I'm glad to hear you say that."

Tim furrowed his brow and looked at Gibbs.

"Why?"

"Because that's you."

"It's not how I was," Tim said.

"That doesn't matter. It hasn't mattered for months. Don't let it start mattering now. Just focus on thinking straight."

Tim felt the panic as he remembered the gunfire. He tried not to.

Gibbs' hand didn't go away. It kept him from spiraling away.

Then, he thought about the gun he kept in his desk. He had managed to point it at himself for a period of time. Not long, but some time without freaking out.

_I don't have to be so afraid. I wasn't,_ he thought to himself.

He took a breath and tried to think...but it was so hard.

"I'm tired," he said.

"You can sleep. You won't be alone."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Someone will be with you."

"And Jethro?"

"He'll be here, too...except when he needs to go out."

"Okay."

"Sleep, Tim. It'll be all right."

"Okay."

Tim lay back and closed his eyes. Then, he reached out and felt Jethro. The German shepherd's head lay on his chest again. The weight was comforting. With someone there keeping him anchored, and Jethro there for comfort, he felt safe enough to fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tony hoped that no one would see him right away...at least no one who wasn't Ducky. He wanted to ask about some things without feeling more guilty than he already did about not liking the way Tim was. He decided to walk around to the back entrance where Ducky and Jimmy rolled the bodies right into Autopsy.

He crept inside and was relieved to see that Ducky was sitting alone in his office. He didn't appear to be working on anything, even.

"Hey...Ducky?" he asked.

Ducky looked up in surprise.

"Oh, Anthony, I didn't hear you come in. What are you doing down here?"

"Abby was right about Jethro. When Tim woke up, he was...mostly...awake."

"You don't seem too happy about it."

"I'm glad he's awake...but...but, Ducky, he was..."

"Not completely himself."

Tony turned around and walked back into the main part of Autopsy.

"I thought it was hard seeing him in the little office, not noticing the time passing, not being able to pay attention to more than one thing at a time. I thought it was hard when he would stare up at the sky and see something none of the rest of us could see. It was hard knowing he'd changed. This is worse. This is a _lot_ worse. When he woke up, he started talking about guns and shooting and he almost lost it again. I didn't know what to do to help! I just wanted someone else to come in and...and I felt so helpless."

"What did you do?" Ducky asked.

"At first, I was just trying to remind him that he was safe. I was trying to keep him from thinking about it, but it didn't help. That's all he could think about."

"At first?"

"Then...remember how Tim's mom would sometimes massage his head, where the scar is, and he'd calm down?"

"Of course."

"I didn't massage his head, but I covered up the scar. It seemed to work a little bit, but he didn't really...get it. He just didn't have another meltdown."

"That's important, Anthony. It's a major breakthrough."

"But...Ducky, he's..."

"Not what you want him to be."

Tony leaned against one of the autopsy tables and nodded.

"Anthony, some of the damage to Timothy's brain was permanent."

"I know that. We all know that."

"Part of that is an inability to comprehend the difference between being shot _at_ and being _shot_."

"Ducky, before all this, I caught him pointing his gun at his own head! He wasn't having a meltdown then!" He laughed a little. "I did that. He just got mad at me for not understanding him."

Ducky smiled sympathetically.

"But he wasn't shooting the gun and it was in his own control. Anthony, what would your reaction have been to being caught in a fire fight of some kind?"

"I'd freak out a little after it was over, but if I didn't get hurt, I'd be fine."

"Timothy can't make that distinction any longer. His therapist has worked with him on that problem for months and he hasn't been able to get Timothy to see the difference. The last time he was shot, he almost died, thought he _was_ dead, and tried to kill himself to stop his pain and confusion. This is too much for him to take in, to understand. That you were able to keep him connected in _spite _of his fear is admirable. It was an important first step...but it is only the first."

"Somehow...I just told myself that once he woke up he'd be back to the new normal. ...but he's not. I'm afraid he won't be, that we'll have to adjust to another new normal, one that's worse than it was before," Tony said and sighed.

"I understand your fears and, to a degree, I share them, but I don't think that you need to worry that much at this point. From what little we know, Timothy lost his routine and that put him off balance. Then, the gunfire made him lose his balance completely. He's now safe again. That means we can re-establish his stability. Don't lose hope, Anthony. Let yourself be encouraged...and don't let yourself discount what _you_ did for him. More than anything else, at this point, he needs comfort, and you gave that to him."

"Not much."

"Obviously, it was enough."

"But was it? What about the next time he wakes up?"

"It will be enough. Timothy didn't suffer more physical damage. The mental damage will be temporary. Once he's able to think more clearly, he'll hear what's being said to him."

"I want him to be okay, Ducky. I really do...whatever that means for him. I know I'm the one who's had the most trouble accepting the way he changed, but...but I really..."

"Anthony, I do understand. Timothy is different. He's changed. That is something that can't be ignored. He knows it and so does everyone else. But it doesn't have to be the negative that you sometimes make it out to be. The biggest difficulty is what we've seen this time. He can't tolerate the stress, the mental stress, and his mind breaks under the pressure, but I don't believe the break is permanent. If we're patient and support him as he recovers, he _will_ recover. Keep your hopes up. You've helped with the first step. There will be more."

"But how many?" Tony asked.

"As many as it takes...as I've told Timothy himself."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs watched Tim as he slept. It had been nice to be able to talk to him, to have him talk back and make sense. However, the intensity of his fear from whatever had happened in the safehouse was worrying.

What was more worrying for Gibbs was that it looked like, for the moment, Tim was the only person who knew what had happened. He was the only one who knew who had been shooting, who had killed the FBI agents. He was the only one who knew why. That might mean that Tim himself was in danger from the killer.

If he was being logical, he should wake Tim up and make him tell what he knew. If it pushed him a bit far, at least they'd know who the guilty party was and Tim would be safe to recover from what would likely be an intense experience. However, he couldn't be logical about Tim, and all he wanted was to help him find his way back to sanity. He had seen Tim at the farthest reaches of insanity and if he could avoid ever seeing that again, he would do it. If Tim couldn't calmly tell them what he had seen and what he knew at this point, then, Gibbs would wait until he could. That was all he cared about...even if Fornell was wanting to find out who was responsible for the deaths of his agents. Gibbs cared more about Tim's well-being.

There was a soft knock on the door. Gibbs looked back.

Speak of the devil.

He gestured and Fornell came inside. Gibbs kept his hand on Tim's shoulder.

"What do you want, Fornell?" he asked softly.

"How's he doing, Jethro?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs relented. There was concern. This wasn't necessarily an official visit.

"He woke up...really woke up, but he's not okay. Not yet."

"How not okay is he?"

Gibbs pulled his hand away from Tim's shoulder and Tim instantly twitched and started to tense up. He put his hand back and Tim calmed.

"That much."

Fornell looked concerned, but about more than Tim's sanity, of course.

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know, Tobias. You can't force him to be okay. Not after how we found him."

"There's a time limit on finding whoever it was, Gibbs. You know that."

Gibbs glared at Fornell.

"Look. I'm not saying I don't sympathize, but two people were killed! ...and we don't know who did it."

"It wasn't Tim."

"I'm not saying it was, but he knows. He must. He was _there_."

Suddenly, Gibbs felt Tim tense beneath his hand. He looked back and Tim's eyes opened quickly. Awake, aware...and terrified. Jethro woke up and whined a little.

"It's all right, Tim. You're safe," Gibbs said.

Tim looked around and his eyes fell on Fornell. Then, they moved to Gibbs. Then, to Jethro. He sat up slowly and put his arms around Jethro, burying his face in the dog's fur. Gibbs looked at Fornell, almost daring him to try and force Tim to say something when it was clear, from the terror in his eyes, that he was only barely keeping himself calm.

Fornell said nothing.

But Tim sat up after about a minute and looked at Gibbs.

"Ask me," he whispered, his voice shaking.

"Ask you what, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"Ask me," he said again, afraid still.

"About what happened?"

Tim nodded.

"From the beginning?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. No..." He started to breathe more quickly.

"Okay. Not from the beginning."

"Ask me."

Tim closed his eyes and waited.

Gibbs stared at him, uncertain of what Tim meant, but he seemed unable to elaborate...because he was too afraid.

Then, he got it. Tim wanted him to ask a question, just one. He couldn't tolerate more. Only one question, the most important one. The most important question was easy to decide on, but asking it...knowing how Tim was likely to react to it... Gibbs didn't want to ask it. However, with Tim pushing to be helped to say what needed to be said, and Fornell looking on, he knew he had to ask.

"Tim...who shot at you? Who had the gun?"

At the moment he said the word gun, Tim actually whimpered. Gibbs tightened his grip on Tim's shoulder.

"You're all right. You're safe. Who was it?"

"Guns. There were guns, Boss," Tim said.

"I know. Who was it? Just the one question. That's all."

Tim opened his eyes and looked at Gibbs and Fornell, so afraid that it was amazing his mind hadn't collapsed yet again.

"Shooting at me."

"I know. They're not now. Who?"

For a long moment, it looked like Tim wouldn't be able to respond, wouldn't be able to speak through his abject fear, the fear that had always accompanied any interaction with guns and had somehow intensified with his recent experience.

...but he spoke, finally.

"Russell... A-A-Agent Russell. He was...shooting...and...and..." Tim lost his words and broke down crying again. As Tony had, Gibbs tried to ground Tim with physical contact. In his worst moments, Tim still occasionally felt like he was falling off the world as he'd described it before, and he needed something to keep that from happening.

"Norris Russell?" Fornell asked. "You're saying that _he_ was the one who killed Wheeler and Blair? Why?"

Gibbs glared at Fornell again.

"One question only, Fornell, and he's answered it."

It was questionable whether or not Tim had heard Fornell anyway. He was falling into the fear of being shot again and was mumbling unintelligible things while Jethro's whine started getting louder. The dog began licking Tim's face, trying to comfort him.

"Don't go there, Tim," Gibbs said. "Don't. You don't have to. There's no reason to be this afraid. You don't have be so afraid of him. He's not here. No one is going to shoot you."

For a few minutes, all Tim did was cry. For someone on the outside of all this, Tim's reaction would seem strange. A grown man sobbing because of fear didn't seem right. But for Gibbs, it was now the norm for Tim. The bullet that had almost killed him had removed much of Tim's ability to cope with strong emotions...like fear, like anger. Gibbs himself hadn't realized just how paralyzing Tim's fear could get, but it was just an extension of what they'd all seen up to this point.

Whatever Fornell was thinking of this reaction, he didn't show it...but he didn't leave, either. He was waiting. For what, Gibbs didn't know for sure. But he was definitely waiting. After a little while longer, Tim calmed again.

"I can't think right," he whispered.

It was about the most intelligible sentence he'd spoken since waking up.

"It's all right, Tim. Give it some time."

Suddenly, Tim sat up straight in bed and looked at Gibbs...and then, at Fornell.

"Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"Allen. It's about Allen," Tim said.

For one brief shining moment, Gibbs thought that Tim had suddenly worked through his fear. Sometimes, Tim did things that didn't make sense.

...but then, he covered his eyes.

"I don't want to be shot again. I don't want... I don't..."

"Tim, stop. You're not going to be shot again. You weren't before. You're safe. Calm down."

"Can't think...can't...can't... I can't think. Can't stop...seeing..."

Gibbs pulled Tim's hands away from his eyes.

"Open your eyes, Tim."

Tim shook his head. This was familiar, unfortunately. Tim was afraid of seeing the bullet that had hit him.

"Open your eyes. You know that there's nothing there."

Tim shook his head again.

"Open your eyes," Gibbs said.

Tim was breathing quickly, but he cracked one of his eyes open. Gibbs made sure that he was right there.

"No guns. No bullets, Tim. Just me...and Tobias."

Tim's eyes opened a little wider. He looked at Gibbs and then at Fornell. Then, around the room again.

"I know," he said softly. "I do...I just can't...stop...being afraid of it."

"I know," Gibbs said. "You're safe. Jethro is here with you and we'll keep you safe here."

Tim took a deep breath.

"No more, Tobias," Gibbs said softly. "No more."

Fornell nodded.

"That's enough. We'll see what we can do. Let me know."

Gibbs nodded and watched as Fornell left. He had no idea what Fornell thought about all this, but the fact that Tim managed to answer any questions at all was a major step forward.

After the door closed, Tim took another deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

"Don't be. We'll be patient."

Another breath.

"Tony was here?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him...thanks...okay?"

"You can tell him. He'll be back."

"My...family?"

"They'll be here soon."

One more breath.

"It's hard to think, Boss. Hard to think right."

"Take some time, Tim. You'll get back there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I'm not in trouble?"

Gibbs' heart sank a little at that question that Tim had asked over and over while he was recovering the first time. He desperately hoped that Tim's recovery this time wouldn't take so long as it had last time. He was afraid of the time it might take...but he didn't say that.

"No, Tim. You're not in trouble."

That was all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"So I was right?" Abby asked delightedly.

"Yeah, you were right," Tony said. Talking with Ducky had given him some equilibrium about what had happened, meaning that he could talk about Tim's partial recovery as a good thing without dwelling on how far Tim had to go. "He's not all the way back yet, but it looks like Jethro pulled him back a little bit."

"That's great! I _knew_ Jethro would help!" Abby said. "I'll have to go and visit after work, see how he's doing. Will his parents be there?"

"Probably, but that doesn't mean you can't be there, too."

"You're right. I'm so glad that Tim is doing better!"

Abby was nearly dancing back to the elevator, but then, she'd always been more accepting of how Tim had changed. Even if Tony had pointed out that Tim was having trouble still, she would have been happy to be right and happy to have Tim back at all. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Ziva looked at Tony.

"There is something wrong?"

"Like I said, he's not all the way back yet," Tony said and looked at his monitor, hoping that Ziva would accept that.

Fat chance.

"You seem bothered."

"I do?"

Ziva furrowed her brow.

"What is it, Tony?"

Tony sighed.

"Tim woke up, but he could barely speak a sentence without freaking out. I'll admit it...I hated seeing him like that. It was better than nothing...but not much more than that."

Ziva sat back and nodded.

"I see. He has a long way to go."

"Yeah."

"I will take that, Tony. Anything is much better than nothing."

"Yeah. I just don't want to see him stuck this way. It was bad enough the first time."

Ziva stood up and walked over to Tony. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"You will not. He will get better."

"I hope so."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell called ahead to see if they could run down Russell. No matter how much there was to this, they did need to talk to him. Fornell had to admit that he was a _little_ bit skeptical about Tim's accusation. It was clear that Tim was unstable at best right now. It was unfortunate, but it had to be acknowledged.

...and the reason for Tim's current instability had to be acknowledged as well which was shameful. Although it galled him, it was obvious that Wheeler and Blair were the cause. They had abducted Tim and the assault on the safehouse (whoever it had been) had disconnected his brain. It was wrong. It was terrible, and while he wanted justice for the murders, they had really brought it on themselves.

Sacks called him back before he got to the office.

"_Fornell?"_

"Yeah?"

"_No sign of him here, and he didn't come in this morning at all."_

That pulled Fornell up short. It was the middle of a work day. Russell should be at work either at the office or out in the field somewhere.

"Does he have a case going?"

"_Only the Allen case. He's been the lead on that since day one."_

And he would be perfectly placed to know when progress was made since he was in charge. If Blair and Wheeler had really been trying to make themselves seem better than they were...and if it really was about the Allen case, then, they would have contacted him if they'd got anything out of Tim...and essentially, signed their own death warrants...which meant, if they _had_ called him and been killed for it, Tim had found something.

"When was the last time he was there?"

"_I don't know."_

"Find out, Sacks. By the time I get back, I want to know what Russell was doing."

"_Why?"_

"Because Agent McGee said that he was the one who killed Wheeler and Blair."

There was a significant silence. Fornell understood since it was the same thing he'd been thinking.

"We've had an accusation, Sacks. We're taking it seriously."

"_Understood."_

"Good...because if McGee is right, then, Russell is not only a murderer, he's also Allen's smuggler."

Fornell hung up and continued on his way, his mind working through all the possibilities. He didn't want to think that it was possible, but it didn't help that Russell was singularly unlikeable and always had been. He could easily believe that Russell was guilty of _something_, even if he didn't want to believe that Tim was right.

But Russell was also an experienced FBI agent. If he'd somehow clued into the possibility of being arrested, he would know exactly how to avoid being caught.

This was not the way he would have chosen to have this case end. If it was what it looked like right now, then, there was one agent who was a murderer and smuggler. The other two agents were kidnappers and had paid for that with their lives.

If Russell was the bad guy, then, they needed to find him and arrest him...before he could get away with murder...or decide to eliminate the witness who had got away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up again. He had slept, but he had awakened.

Before he could start to panic about not knowing what was going on, about being alone, about falling off the world, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Tim?"

"Mom," he whispered.

"That's right. You're safe."

"There were guns, Mom," he whispered.

The hand became arms around him...and a familiar scent.

"You're safe, Tim. No guns here. You're safe!"

"Abby."

"Yeah! I'm so glad you're back with us, Tim."

"It was..." Then, he didn't know what he was saying and he stopped talking.

"Don't worry. Jethro is just doing his business. He'll be back soon."

"Open your eyes, Tim."

"I'm afraid."

"I know. Do it anyway."

Tim found that he could smile at how his mother was talking to him. It gave him the courage to open his eyes. Abby was very close to him, hugging him. His parents were sitting beside his bed.

In the hospital, Tim remembered. He was in the hospital, but he hadn't been hurt, had he?

No.

He took a breath and tried to think.

"Gibbs was here," he said softly.

"Yes, he was. He stayed until we got here."

"And Tony before him."

"You haven't been alone, Tim," his father said. "Not once since they brought you here."

"Thanks."

"How are you feeling?" Abby asked.

"Afraid," Tim said. "But...it's not...not as bad as it was. Why not?"

"You're just thinking more, Tim," his mom said. "It's a good thing."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"So...I have to keep thinking?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. You do, but you would anyway."

The door opened and Tim tensed, looking toward it in fear...but it was Tony with Jethro. He smiled.

"Hey, awake again, huh, Probie?" Tony asked.

Tim smiled at him and then smiled even more widely at Jethro as he tugged on his leash until Tony let him off it. The German shepherd jumped up on the bed and began licking Tim's face again.

"Ziva was going to come tonight, but she started feeling sick. I warned her about that Chinese place by the Metro, but she wouldn't listen. So you're stuck with me again."

"Stuck with you?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. It's evening and you're parents are getting time off."

Tim nodded, but he knew that there was more to it than that. Still, he was feeling a bit more settled than he had been the last time, and he was okay with just accepting what Tony said if it meant that he didn't start falling off the world again.

Abby hadn't let him go yet, but he liked the feeling. It was so secure that he felt that he could keep smiling.

"I'm glad to see you smiling," Abby said. "It's a lot better than you were."

"Thanks, Abby."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was a little envious of how easily Abby accepted the way Tim was. When he came into the room, Abby was just hugging him and she looked as thrilled to see him the way he was right now as she was to see him when he was normal.

But even Tony could admit that Tim was a lot better than he had been just that morning. It was like the first shock of getting back had pushed him onward at an accelerating rate. It made Tony feel a lot better than he had before.

For the rest of the evening, Abby sat with Tim's parents while Tony checked out the security of the hospital. He talked with the guards about Agent Russell. He also talked to the nurses on duty. He showed them a picture of Agent Russell and let them know that he should _not_ be admitted for any reason and that they should call NCIS or the FBI if he showed up. Fornell had seemed skeptical about Agent Russell coming to the hospital if he'd already clued in to their suspicions. It would make more sense if he simply cut his losses and made a run for it, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

By the time Tim's parents headed to their hotel for the night, Tim seemed almost relaxed. Not quite, but almost.

Tony settled on the chair beside Tim. Jethro was back in his position on the bed, his head on Tim's chest.

Tim had been drowsing, but then, he suddenly sat up and looked around, his eyes wide open. He was afraid until his eyes fell on Tony. Then, after a few seconds, he leaned back and relaxed a little.

"You're here still."

"Yeah. All night."

"Why?"

"We said we wouldn't leave you alone. As long as you need someone here, someone will be here."

"You don't like it, though," Tim said.

_That_ was familiar. Tim staring at him with that evaluating expression, staring into his soul, it seemed sometimes. It was almost a relief to have Tim acting that way.

"I like it better than what you were like before," Tony said, hoping that would be enough, but he was relieved that Tim wasn't pursuing the extra reason why there was someone sitting in his room, and a security guard patrolling the halls on the lookout for Russell.

"But you still don't like it," Tim said.

"No, I don't," Tony said, deciding to be honest. "But you're getting better, Tim, and that's a good thing. I'm really glad that you're starting to get better now. I never thought it'd happen so fast based on this morning."

Tim nodded slowly. He tensed and breathed heavily for a moment. His eyes closed. Tony felt awful for reminding Tim of how he'd been feeling earlier that day. Jethro sat up and whined and licked Tim's face. After a few minutes, though, Tim relaxed a little.

"No guns," he whispered.

"No," Tony said.

Tim nodded again.

"I'm sorry," Tony said. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay."

Tim's eyes opened again.

"It's hard to think right. Mom says it'll get better."

"It already has," Tony said.

"Yeah." Tim yawned and looked at Tony. "Thanks for being here when you don't want to be."

Tony smiled. "My pleasure, Tim."

Tim smiled back and then closed his eyes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a thump.

There was a growl.

The comforting weight vanished.

Another thump and a whine.

Tim opened his eyes and breathed heavily.

A gun.

Pointed right at his head.

"I understand that you don't like guns much anymore, Agent McGee," Agent Russell said. "Don't worry. You won't have to be afraid for long."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Tim felt his whole world shrink. All that existed was him and the gun pointed at him. Just like before. There was a roaring in his ears. He couldn't hear anything. For an unknown period of time, all he could do was stare at the gun.

Then, suddenly, he heard something again.

"–little freak. I can't understand why it took someone like _you_ to break through it. I had everything blocked. No one at the FBI could figure out why they couldn't get through, and then, a freak like you broke through the blocks I'd put up like they weren't even there! All I needed was to keep everyone out until I could figure out how to break the encryption and know exactly what Allen had on me, but no. I had to have the freak of NCIS come on the scene. Everyone knows about what happened to you, how Director Vance took pity on an idiot and gave you a job. ...but then, you broke my blocks."

Tim heard the voice, but what he saw was Tony on the floor. Not moving. There was blood on his head. Blood. On his head.

_Tony got shot! He's going to think he's dead!_

Then, he saw Jethro on the floor, too. He was also bloody.

"You tell me how you broke through and you'll only be afraid very briefly. I can't afford to shoot more than once, not if I want to get away."

Tim's eyes went back to the gun.

"I don't want to think I'm dead!" he whispered.

There was a laugh. A cruel laugh.

"Don't worry, freak. You won't for long. I shoot you in the head and you'll really die."

"I didn't before," Tim said.

"I doubt you'll luck out again. Tell me what you did, how you broke through."

There was that gun.

But it was a lot like his own. The one he kept in his desk. The one he knew how to use.

He hadn't heard any shots yet.

Maybe...

"Idiot. You just sit there. I can't _believe_ that you're smart enough to break through. If it weren't for the fact that those other two were bigger idiots than you, I'd think that all this was an act."

Then, the gun moved away.

It moved _away_...without shooting at him.

Suddenly, Tim didn't know how, but he threw himself forward, grabbing for the gun he hated and feared. He could see the man across the lawn. If the man across the lawn didn't have a gun, he couldn't shoot Tim in the head again. That was the only thing he could do to keep from thinking he was dead again.

He had surprise on his side. Clearly, the person holding the gun didn't think he'd be able to move. He also had desperate fear.

Suddenly, the gun was in his hand. He didn't think. He reacted. He hadn't been fast enough before and he'd thought he was dead.

He started firing. He couldn't stop with one shot. He didn't know how to stop pulling the trigger.

Agent Russell staggered back away from him as Tim fired again and again. Finally, the gun stopped firing. There was no more sound. Tim stared at Agent Russell for what seemed an eternity.

...but then, Agent Russell's eyes became empty. He slid down the wall and fell to the floor. He didn't move.

Tim stared at him and then, he looked at Tony again. He saw the blood coming from Tony's head. He ran over and knelt down. He rolled Tony onto his back and took his hand.

"Tony...you're not dead," Tim said. "You're not dead. You're not dead."

He didn't know how long he knelt on the floor beside Tony, telling him that he wasn't dead. He didn't want anyone to feel what he had felt. He would have tried with Jethro, but he was pretty sure that Jethro wouldn't understand him. Tony would.

"You're not dead. You're not dead."

Then, out of nowhere, there were people pulling at him, trying to stop him from helping Tony.

"No, no, no," he said. "No! Tony, you have to listen to me. You're not dead. You're not dead."

He could hear voices, but he was so focused on making sure Tony heard him that he couldn't understand what they were saying.

"You're not dead, Tony. You're not dead."

Then, there was a light tap on the back of his head...and he heard a voice he had to listen to. He couldn't ignore that voice. He'd get in trouble.

"Tim."

He chanced looking away from Tony briefly.

"Boss, he has to know that he's not dead. I can't let him feel that."

He started to turn back to Tony, but he felt hands on his shoulders, keeping him from moving.

"Tim, listen to me."

"He's not dead."

"I know. They need to take Tony so that they can take care of him. You hear me?"

"There's blood."

"He didn't get shot, Tim. There's no bullet wound."

"Someone has to tell him that he's not dead," Tim said.

"Okay. Someone will, but you have to let him go. All right?"

Tim looked down and realized that he had a white-knuckle grip on Tony's hand. Then, he looked at Gibbs again.

"Let him go, Tim. He's going to be fine."

Tim nodded and released Tony's hand. In a blur, Tony was taken away, and Tim was moved to his bed. He was sitting there, not knowing what to do. Then, he remembered his dog.

"Jethro," Tim said and started trying to stand up again.

Gibbs held him down on the bed.

"They're taking care of him, too. He didn't get shot, either. Will you let me take the gun?"

Tim looked at his hand and saw the gun there. Instantly, he let it go and it fell to the floor. Then, he subsided and leaned back, letting Gibbs calm him down.

"No one should feel like that," Tim whispered. "Ever."

"You're right. They shouldn't and they won't. I promise."

"I didn't...hear a shot." He started to feel a little calmer.

Gibbs nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"A gun...pointed at my head." Tim felt the panic again.

Gibbs sat beside Tim and put an arm around his shoulders.

"It's all right. It's over now, Tim. It's not happening again. It's over."

"He wanted to know...how a freak like me could get in."

"That's what he said?" Gibbs asked.

Tim nodded. He wasn't looking at anyone or anything. He still felt afraid...but not as terrified as he had been before. He didn't know why.

"Agent Russell?"

Tim nodded again.

"He said I was a freak. An idiot."

"You're not."

"I was so afraid...afraid that... but Tony was bleeding."

"He didn't get shot."

"I saw him...on the floor...and Jethro on the floor... They were both bleeding."

"They didn't get shot."

Tim took a breath.

"He had the gun. It was pointing at me...but he didn't shoot me. He...kept asking me...kept calling me a freak...and then..."

"What?"

"He moved it away. I got the gun."

"How?"

"I don't know. I had it and I shot...like in the gallery...before. It was..." Tim looked at the floor where Tony and Jethro had been and he took another breath. Gibbs' arm tightened around him.

"You're all right."

"I had the gun. If I shot, he couldn't. So I shot. I kept shooting until the bullets were gone. He fell. He's dead."

"Yes, he is."

Tim nodded, but he wasn't asking. He had known by the emptiness in Russell's eyes. That emptiness was what he had _felt_. It was just that no one else had seen it. That was the sign of death. Real death. He closed his eyes at the memory he had. That emptiness that threatened to dump him off the edge of the world.

"Stay with me, Tim. It's okay."

Another breath.

"I killed him."

"Yes."

"He hurt Tony."

"Yes."

"And Jethro."

"Yeah."

"Should I feel bad?"

"No, and you're not in trouble for it."

"Okay." Tim looked at Gibbs, finally. "Tony needs to know that he's not dead."

"I'll tell him, myself," Gibbs said. "Once your parents get here, I'll go and tell him."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Gibbs stayed where he was until the door opened again and Naomi rushed in, followed closely by Sam in his chair.

"Tim! They called us. Are you all right?"

Tim tensed a little, but he relaxed when he saw who it was. Naomi hugged him tightly, almost before Gibbs could move aside.

"He's dead, Mom. I killed him."

"It's going to be fine, Tim. It's going to be just fine."

Tim closed his eyes and let his mother comfort him. After a while, he fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The blood stain was still visible on the floor by the wall. Tim hadn't missed once. As soon as Tim was asleep, Gibbs bent over and picked up the gun he'd dropped. He checked the magazine.

Empty.

"What happened, Agent Gibbs?" Sam asked. "Was Tim telling the truth?"

Gibbs nodded.

"So far as we can tell. No one else was in the room except Tony and the dog. Both of them were injured. Tim didn't get hurt, but..."

"He's still...edgy," Naomi said softly. "We'll stay with him, but anyone from NCIS can come and see him if they want to. Is Tony all right?"

"Hope so."

"Go check," Sam said. "Then, we can say that you did when Tim asks."

Gibbs smiled and nodded.

He left Tim with his family and sought out where Tony had been taken. He found the room just as Tony was being wheeled in. He quickly walked over.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked.

The doctor paused and let the staff take Tony all the way in.

"There's some swelling, and we're going to keep him here to make sure that it doesn't get worse. So far, I think it's going to subside on its own. It was a hard blow from the gun, but it could have been a lot worse."

"He's not awake?"

"Not yet. He'll wake up on his own."

"If he doesn't?" Gibbs asked.

"I think your agent is going to be fine, but we're being careful because no one wants to be wrong about it. He got a hard knock. If you'd like to sit with him, feel free."

"Thanks."

Gibbs walked into the room. Tony was lying quietly. He didn't look too bad. Some stitches on his head, but he looked asleep, not comatose. He settled beside the bed to wait. The others at NCIS would have to know about what had happened here tonight, but he'd rather wait until Tony was awake. Abby would be fretting about all three involved. Ziva would come, even with food poisoning and try to pretend she felt fine, and Ducky...well, Ducky would probably do fine. However, immediate needs were more important. Bad news would always keep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was something heavy on his head. Really heavy. He tried to get it off, but his hands seemed to be really heavy, too. He tried to open his eyes, but it appeared that the heavy weights were on his face, too. Who put all the weights on him? Why? What would be the point of that?

"You awake, DiNozzo?"

He thought about that.

"Who put weights on my face?" he asked.

There was a soft chuckle.

"No weights."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

Well, if that was the case, that meant he should be able to open his eyes. He struggled to do so.

He opened his eyes, and saw Gibbs there.

"Boss...what's going on?" he asked.

"What do you remember?"

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours. It's early in the morning."

"What happened?"

"What do _you_ remember?"

"Uh...Ziva was sick and so I took her shift. Abby was there, but she left. Tim's parents left. Tim was asleep. So was Jethro. I had checked the hall. Everything was fine." Tony looked around. Obviously, he was in a hospital bed now, himself. "It wasn't fine, was it."

"No."

"Is Tim okay?" he asked. He started to sit up, but his head spun.

"Yeah. He's fine."

"What happened?"

"You don't remember getting hit?"

"By a car?" Tony asked in confusion. "How did it get in the room?"

Gibbs' chuckle told him that he'd just said something ridiculous. He thought about it for a moment and had to agree. He smiled.

"So what hit me?"

"The butt of a gun, so far as we can tell."

"Who?"

"Agent Russell."

"So...he got in, then? How?"

"Not sure, but he had twenty years of experience as an FBI agent. He knew all the procedures and how security works."

"Great." Tony took a breath and looked around the room, letting his brain get into a better gear. "Wait...you were using the past tense. On purpose?"

"Yeah."

Tony blinked a few times and focused on Gibbs. He didn't look too happy.

"What happened, Boss? You said that Tim is okay. I'm alive, too. ...Jethro?"

"He got hit, too, but he's fine. Better than you, actually."

"What's going on, Boss? It's not like you to be so...not...direct."

"Agent Russell is dead."

"Oh." Tony thought about that. "Who got him?"

"Tim did."

"Okay...my brain must not be working right, Boss, because I thought you just said that Tim got him."

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"Did he get a knife or something?"

"No. He shot him."

Tony laughed.

"No. You must be pulling my leg, Boss. Tim was freaking out at the _mention_ of a gun. He wouldn't be shooting one."

"He did. Fifteen shots to the chest. Didn't miss once."

"_Fifteen_?"

"Full magazine. He couldn't stop once he started. Just like the only other time he's fired a gun since he got shot."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. Okay, but we'll have to see."

"I'm sorry, Boss. I screwed up. I should have see him coming."

"Maybe you did."

"Where did he hit me?"

"Side of the head."

"So...he got me from behind."

"Don't know that. Do you think you're dead?"

"Huh?"

Gibbs sighed. "Tim is afraid that you might think you're dead. He'll ask the first time he sees you."

"Why?"

"Because he saw you with blood on your head. He got shot in the head and thought he was dead."

"Oh. No. I'm not dead. Man, this sucks."

"Yeah."

"What do we do now?"

"You relax as much as you can. ...and we see what happens next."

Tony couldn't deny that he had the granddaddy of all headaches and that he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep...but he was also worried. Tim had shot someone. Sure, he had shot a murderer, but still...

"Don't worry, Tony. We'll figure it out."

"You sure about that, Boss?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

It hadn't been a pleasant way to wake up, but he was glad that Tim was okay.

Tony just hoped that Tim really was.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Tim woke up in the night. He knew it was night because there was only a little bit of light out the window. Inside the room, the lights were low but on. It wasn't dark inside. He felt a comforting hand on his arm, anchoring him to the world, but his connection felt stronger than it had before. He wasn't sure if he actually needed the extra weight now. He thought he might be pretty securely anchored.

He decided to try it. Carefully, he freed his arm from the hand and set it gently on the bed. He looked at the hand and followed it up to his mother, asleep. He smiled a little. No one kept him safe like Mom.

Still, he was feeling better...but there was something else. What was it?

His eyes moved over to a part of the room. Even in the dim light, he could see the stain. It almost seemed to sparkle in the midst of the patterns he always saw.

Blood.

_I killed someone._

That was it.

What did that mean for him? He had no question about whether or not he'd killed the man. He had no question that the man had deserved it.

The plain fact of the matter, though, was that he had killed someone.

Not just killed. Shot.

_I shot someone._

Not in the head, though.

Tim was suddenly conscious that he was rubbing the scar on his head. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to look at himself in a mirror. He didn't need to most of the time and so he rarely did.

He couldn't explain to himself why, but he wanted to see himself now. He didn't want anyone to ask him about it, though. This was one of those things that had no words to explain it. He didn't like it when people looked at him with that expression that said what he was doing didn't make sense.

He slid out of bed, trying to make sure that his mom stayed asleep. Then, he walked to the small bathroom. He stepped inside and closed the door. For a moment, he stood there in the darkness and wondered if he was afraid or not. Then, he reached out and flipped on the light

There he was in the mirror.

On his forehead was the scar. The mark of the thing that had changed him. Tim knew he was different from how he had been, but, in reality, it was an academic knowledge. He couldn't really remember how he had _felt_ before. What he remembered was the _fact_ that things had been different or rather that _he_ had been different. The memories he had were mostly devoid of the things that would tell him the emotions of them, the reasons for what made things different.

He stared at himself for a long time, wondering who it was he really saw. He was glad that he didn't see himself falling apart.

At the same time...

He reached out and touched the mirror, almost expecting to see something change. The patterns, what his doctor called visual distortions, seemed to crystallize around the scar.

That was the defining factor of much of his life. That hole in his head. Did it mean that his life had no real meaning beyond that? No. Was he a freak? Maybe. Tim couldn't be sure of that. His friends insisted that he wasn't, but people who didn't know him very well thought he was. He wasn't sure how to take that.

Then, he heard movement outside the door.

A knock.

"Tim? Are you in there?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I think I am."

"Can I come in?"

Tim turned and opened the door. Naomi was there with a worried expression on her face. Tim supposed that she had reason to be. She scrutinized him and then silently asked if he was going to stay in the bathroom.

Tim came out.

"Don't start wondering if you're you," she said as Tim sat down. "You are."

"Sometimes, I wonder," Tim said, his voice still soft. He didn't want to disturb the calm that he'd found by speaking loudly. "I was looking at myself in the mirror."

"And what did you see?"

Tim touched the scar.

"This."

"You're more than that, Tim."

"Does it ever make you mad?" Tim asked.

"I'm not mad."

"No, not me...this. Does what happened make you mad?"

Naomi sat on Tim's bed and patted the space beside her. Tim walked over and sat down. Naomi put her arm around him.

"It used to. There was a time when I would wonder why it was that my son was going through all that. I wondered if I would ever get you back...and I said it wasn't fair because we'd already gone through enough."

"And now?"

"Now, I have my son. You're not the same, but you're still my son. You can't let the changes make you think that you're not yourself. You are Tim McGee."

Tim leaned against her.

"I remember the things from before, but they're almost...not real. I know things. I have the memories but... I don't think I really know what I'm missing."

"You're not, Tim."

Tim took a breath.

"Mom."

"Yes?"

Tim pulled away from her and looked at her directly.

"People who don't know me think I'm a freak. I've heard them say that. People who do know me insist I'm not. Which is right?"

Naomi was quiet for a few seconds. Tim thought she might have been sad.

"Tim, you are my son. You are an NCIS agent."

"Not a normal one."

"No, but you're still an agent. You still work. You are a good man. You _are_ different from what a lot of people expect when they talk to you. You are _not_ a freak."

"Tony doesn't know what to do with me."

"Yes, he does. It's just a matter of learning to accept the differences. He's working on it...because he cares. The people who think you're a freak don't care...and all they see is different."

"But I _am_ different."

"Yes, and you know that. So do I. So does everyone. It's all right."

Tim nodded and looked away. His eyes went to that stain on the floor.

"I did that," he said.

"Yes."

"He hurt Tony."

"Tony's all right, Tim. Agent Gibbs told us. He's going to be fine."

Suddenly, Tim felt worried.

"I need to see him."

He started to get up.

"No, Tim. It's late at night. Tony will be sleeping."

"But...but I need to see that...that he's..."

"He's fine. He had a concussion, but he will be fine."

"No...I just..."

Naomi stopped him from standing.

"Tim, look at me. Okay? Listen. You're doing so much better. Don't fall back into the panic. There's no reason."

"Tony could..."

"He's going to be fine. He doesn't think he's dead. You don't need to be afraid of that. I promise. ...but you can't see him right now. You need to wait."

Tim started rubbing at his scar again.

"I know all this that's happened has scared you, Tim, but you need to fight against the panic that keeps you from thinking."

Tim let his mother pull him back down onto the bed. She hugged him tightly, and Tim was surprised to feel like crying, and as always happened when he felt the emotion, he started to cry. The tears came to his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

"It's okay, Tim. It's okay."

"I killed someone. I shot him. I pulled the trigger. I couldn't stop. I had to keep shooting."

Tim was crying as he spoke. He had no mechanism for dealing with strong emotions. They basically took over when he felt them.

"Shh, Tim. It's okay."

His mom started to rock him back and forth.

"It's all right."

Tim kept crying, but he stopped trying to speak. After a while, he felt better and he sat up. He looked at his mother.

"Can I see if Tony is all right tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm kind of tired."

"Then, it's fine if you sleep."

Tim lay back and looked at the ceiling.

"I'm glad you're here, Mom."

"So am I. I'm even more glad that _you're_ here, Tim."

Tim closed his eyes and slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was feeling impatient. He'd been waiting for his doctor to come in and tell him he'd been released for hours. Now, granted, he'd been awake since five a.m., but still. It had been _hours_. He still had a headache, but the MRI hadn't shown anything bad going on in his head, and he wanted to go home. He supposed he should be appreciative that he didn't have a roommate at the moment, but it was far from his home.

The door to his room opened. He had a hope that it was finally his doctor.

...but no. It was Ziva.

"How are you feeling, Miss David?" he asked. "Stomach all settled?"

Ziva rolled her eyes.

"Yes. I am feeling fine now. I did not even kill the people at the restaurant."

"I told you to beware."

"How are _you_?"

"I'm bored."

"Nothing else?"

Tony shrugged.

"Tim's doing okay. He hasn't had another meltdown...at least not that anyone has told me. He hasn't, has he?" Tony asked.

"Not that I know. I have only been able to leave home...this morning." Ziva seemed more than a little embarrassed by that.

Tony grinned.

"How are you, Tony? Really."

"I have a headache. I'm cranky. I want to go home, and I'm worried about how Tim is doing after all this. Anything else you want to know?"

"Are you all right?" she asked with a strangely gentle tone.

Tony took a breath and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm all right."

"Good. I am glad. From what I have heard, nothing that happened was your fault."

"No, it wasn't, but it sure wasn't my finest hour. People keep hitting me on the back of the head."

"Besides Gibbs?"

Tony smiled a little.

"Yeah. Besides Gibbs."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Tony shook his head. "No. I don't. The doc says that I probably won't, either. It's too common for things like this to be forgotten. Everything was fine...and then, it wasn't."

"I am sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I'm just hoping that Tim gets better, not worse."

"I hope so, too."

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

That would definitely _not_ be the doctor. He wouldn't knock first.

The door opened, revealing Sam in his wheelchair.

"Tony, Ziva," he said. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"No, Sam. Come on in," Tony said. "How's Tim?"

"Asleep still, thank goodness. He had a few rough moments last night from what Naomi told me."

"Rough, how?" Ziva asked.

"He fired a gun. He killed a man. An odious excuse for a human being, but a man, all the same. George Bernard Shaw said that 'really bad men are just as rare as really good ones,' but I think he killed one of the really bad ones."

"And he is one of the really good men," Ziva said softly.

"I'm biased, but I agree," Sam said. "Still, Tim doesn't seem to be able to make that distinction. What he knows is that he killed...no _shot_ someone. The rest of it...doesn't seem to matter."

"I'm sorry," Tony said.

"Not your fault. Let's put the blame where it belongs. First, on that Agent Russell who deserved what he got and worse. Second, on the man who shot Tim two years ago. Sometimes, I still can't help but really hate him. When I see how different Tim can be..." Sam sighed, clearly not really thinking about the others in the room. "I'm his father and I'm not supposed to think this way, but sometimes, my son seems like a stranger. There are moments when he looks at me from another world, but then..." Sam smiled a little. "...but then, who ever really stays the same? The changes I faced were physical, not mental, but I changed a lot after the accident. Still..." He sighed and reconnected with the others. "Sorry. I get pensive sometimes. I did have a reason for coming here besides talking your ears off."

Tony smiled.

"What?"

"Tim has been really worried about you, Tony. I was hoping that you could come and visit him...once you're released, of course. Your health has to take precedence over Tim's worry but..."

"What?" Ziva asked.

"So far, Tim hasn't realized that he's not allowed to leave. We've managed to keep him from knowing that he's still in the psychiatric wing and restricted in his movements. The first time, you know, he couldn't tolerate the restriction. We don't know if he _still_ would have that problem, but he's tentatively getting better after all these terrible things. We don't want to risk it."

"Of course, I'll come...when my doctor deigns to show up. I'm feeling fine."

Tony didn't mention his headache to Sam. If this would help Tim, then, he was all for it...no matter how he himself felt about confronting Tim's differences again.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked. "If you're not up to it, we can hold Tim off for another day or so."

"No. It's fine. I'll come...when I'm allowed."

Sam smiled in relief. "Thank you. All of you. I can't tell you how much of a comfort it's been to Naomi and me that Tim has so many people watching out for him. He has days...when he just can't manage on his own, but we told him that he _had_ to ask for help when he needed it, and he has...and you've all stepped up, even when, I know, it must have been really hard to do it. President Reagan said that 'those who say that we're in a time when there are no heroes, they just don't know where to look.' He's right. You're Tim's heroes, even if he doesn't realize it. ...but I think he does. Thank you."

Tony looked at Ziva uncomfortably. He wasn't used to being described that way...for simply sticking it out.

"Anyway, come by whenever you can. Thank you."

Sam wheeled himself out of the room. Ziva closed the door behind him and then turned back.

"He said some of the same things you have said."

"Yeah. He did."

Ziva walked back to him and sat down.

"If he can admit to it and still love his son..."

Tony shrugged.

"I'm not Sam. Sam is...way more eloquent."

Ziva smiled.

"It is about feeling, not words."

Then, the door opened once more and Tony was relieved to _finally_ see his doctor coming in.

"Good morning, Agent DiNozzo. I hear you're anxious to be set free."

"You have no idea."

"All right. Let's just check things out once more and if I'm satisfied, then, you can be released."

Ziva raised her eyebrows but remained mute as she let Tony have his final examination in privacy.

"Let's not waste any more time."

"Please," Tony said and willingly submitted to the exam.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Jimmy was standing outside the door to Tim's room. He didn't want to see Tim in that state of near-insanity, but he'd been _not_ coming and it was time to show up.

He took a breath and knocked softly on the door. Then, he peeked in the window and saw Tim looking at him with a questioning expression. Jimmy opened the door.

"Hey, Tim. I just thought I'd stop by before work. How's it going?"

Tim's eyes slid from Jimmy to a space on the floor.

"They cleaned it up while I was asleep...but I can still see it."

"See what?" Jimmy asked.

"The blood."

"Oh...uh..."

Tim looked at him again.

"It's okay, Jimmy. You don't have to try to make me feel better. I won't. Not right now. I'm not supposed to think about it until I can...be okay again."

"How are you doing on that?"

"I'm better than I was."

"That's good."

"Mom felt like she could take a break. So that's good. She was here with me all night."

"You've never been alone here."

Tim nodded.

"I know. I'm glad because I was falling off the world again and that hasn't happened for a long time."

"What do you mean?"

"The feeling. I can't explain it any other way. I feel like the world is tipping over and I'm falling off it. I was feeling that before, but I'm not really right now."

"I'm glad."

Tim looked at the space where he said there had been blood. His gaze lingered there for about a minute.

"I shot someone."

"He deserved it."

"Yes...but I shot him. I killed him."

Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jimmy could see him starting to worry. He hurried over and grabbed Tim's arm.

"It's okay."

Tim managed to smile a little, but he was very tense.

"Is Tony okay?"

"As far as I know. I stopped by yesterday and he was bored. Why?"

"He doesn't think he's dead?"

"No. Why would he?"

"He got hit in the head."

"But not with a bullet and what happened to you was so rare that no one even realized that there was something that could explain how you felt. The odds of it happening to him, too, are astronomically small."

"Doesn't matter."

This is when Jimmy hated to see Tim. It reminded him too much of the reasons for Tim's problems. No matter how many times he told himself that Tim didn't blame him for what had happened, that it really _wasn't_ his fault, he felt a little responsible for it. The challenges Tim still faced and _would_ face for the rest of his life were because he had been shot while trying to protect Jimmy and Ducky. Most people wouldn't have to be constantly reassured that they weren't falling off the world simply because someone had fired a weapon in their presence.

...and yet, Tim didn't seem to notice how much he'd changed most of the time. He went on with his life without thinking about it...or maybe, he just couldn't be aware of something like that. Maybe it was beyond his mental capacity to compare then to now. Jimmy didn't know because he didn't ask. It seemed callous to try and get at how much Tim realized he had changed, just for his curiosity.

After a couple of minutes, Tim opened his eyes.

"You're sure he's okay?"

"Yeah. Positive," Jimmy said.

"Really sure?" He closed his eyes again.

"Absolutely, Tim."

The door opened behind him.

"I'm trying to believe you," Tim said. "It's just hard."

"I know."

"I'm fine, Tim."

Tim's eyes opened and Jimmy turned. Tony was standing there with his usual almost-fake smile.

"You don't think you're dead?" he asked, just as earnest as he'd been when asking Jimmy.

"No, of course not."

"I really didn't want you to feel that," Tim said.

"I don't. Honest, Tim, I don't feel that at all."

Tim's eyes welled up with tears. Crying again. Jimmy could see that Tony was uncomfortable. He was, too, but Tim seemed completely unabashed at crying over this.

"No one should. No one. Ever. And I saw you on the floor and I was afraid. I kept telling you that you weren't dead so that you wouldn't think you were."

"Hey, I'm not thinking that. It's okay, Tim. Really, it is. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

Tim quickly wiped at the tears on his cheeks.

"I know. I'm being stupid again. It's like when I was afraid that Gibbs was mad at me all the time. I just can't...stop worrying about it."

He closed his eyes and kept crying. Tony looked at Jimmy and seemed momentarily helpless. Then, he took a breath and walked over. He sat down on the bed, took another breath and hugged Tim.

"Listen to me, Tim. I don't think I'm dead. I don't have to deal with what you did. You don't have to worry about me. Not at all. Everything is going to be all right. I promise."

Tim was breathing heavily as he tried to get himself in control again.

"I want to go home," he whispered. "I want to go back to work. I want...my life back."

Jimmy saw Tony's expression. It was concerned although he didn't know why.

"You will...not yet, though. They need to make sure that you're okay, first. Once they're sure, you'll go home. You know you're not ready yet."

"I just can't find...balance. I can't be the way I was before and everything was fine, but it's not fine. It's not fine. I shot someone. I shot someone!"

"Yeah, you did. You saved your life and you saved my life. ...and that...he deserved it, Tim. If he made you feel this way, he deserved to be shot. In fact, I wish I could have shot him a few times myself. You just need to calm down and listen to everyone. We're all telling you that it's okay."

"I'm not," Tim said softly.

"You're not what?"

"I'm not telling me that."

"Why?" Tony asked, sounding a little impatient.

"Because...I don't know how to believe it."

"You can believe it. I promise. I'm fine. You'll be fine. And the trouble is over."

Even so, Tim didn't relax.

...until he seemed to fall asleep.

After he had stilled, Tony let him go and sighed.

"I don't know what to do," he said softly.

"Does anyone?" Jimmy asked. "Even Tim doesn't know what to do...and it's his life."

"But is it really? Should we expect him to know what to do?"

"Yeah. We should," Jimmy said, in surprise.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"We should?"

"Tim has always understood his own mind. He just can't explain it to us anymore. The difference between then and now isn't that Tim doesn't know himself. It's just that he can't help us understand him now. I think if we let Tim do more of what he thinks is right, he'd probably be better off."

"Like when you stopped him from jumping off the roof?"

"That was different," Jimmy said, feeling a bit stung. "And you know it. Tim wasn't in his right mind then. He really is close to it now. He's not hiding anymore. He's not catatonic. He's not having a breakdown. He's just a little overwhelmed by everything that's happened in the last few days. That doesn't mean we can't trust him. We can trust him, Tony. I think we _need_ to trust him _more_."

"How _much_ more?"

"As much as we can," Jimmy said, feeling more certain that he was right. "Tim is different, and that means that we need to realize that he's different...and not try to make him into what he can't be."

Tony was quiet for a few seconds. He looked at Tim's sleeping form and then back at Jimmy. To Jimmy's surprise, he smiled.

"When did you get so smart, Black Lung?"

Jimmy grinned.

"I've been listening to Dr. Mallard. ...but I'm not perfect. It's hard for me to come here to visit him. When he's like this, I can't help but blame myself because I remember how he was and I wish he would be that way again. Dr. Mallard says that I shouldn't think that way and most of the time, I don't anymore, but still...sometimes..." He shrugged. "But, logically, I know that I'm wrong, and I know that Tim doesn't blame me. ...and I should trust him."

Then, Jimmy looked at his watch. He needed to get to work.

"I have to go. Dr. Mallard won't be happy if I'm late, even if I was here."

Tony laughed.

"Go on. I can stay. I'm not allowed back yet, anyway."

Jimmy smiled and left with one last look at Tim. He somehow felt better now than he had when he came...and it wasn't so much because of anything Tim had done but because he'd been forced to acknowledge reality, to admit out loud how things were. Strange how that helped.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim hadn't fallen asleep, but he had calmed with the physical contact that kept him from losing his balance.

Then, he had heard Tony and Jimmy speaking so quietly that they were almost whispering. If he had been any more worried, Tim wouldn't have been able to focus on what they were saying enough to understand the words.

...but he had understood them.

...as much as he could anyway. What Tony said...well, that wasn't a surprise. He knew that Tony had a hard time accepting the way he was. Actually, Tim was grateful that Tony didn't give up when Tim couldn't be what Tony wanted him to be.

When Jimmy had said that they should trust Tim, Tim had almost opened his eyes, had almost sat up and asked if he really meant it.

...but Jimmy had no way of knowing that Tim was awake, not asleep. Tim had a hard time keeping his eyes closed and listening to people. Looking at them helped him focus. Jimmy wouldn't expect Tim to be awake and listening.

...so it must be the truth. Jimmy thought that Tim should be trusted. Jimmy didn't think that he was crazy. He was different. Yes, he was. Tim knew that, of course. He wondered what he should do. If he was trustworthy, what did that mean for him?

Somewhere in his attempt to think about it, he fell asleep for real.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He woke up and it was dark and quiet. He opened his eyes and smiled.

His mom was there again. He hadn't heard her come in. He hadn't thought that he was _that_ tired. Still, he sat up. He was awake now. Very awake. In fact, his mind was surging with thoughts. So many thoughts that he couldn't keep up with them.

At one moment, he was thinking about killing Agent Russell. At another, he was thinking about Tony lying on the floor, bleeding. Then, his mind was off to Jethro. Then, to the idea that he wanted to get back to work. Then, he thought about the gun in his desk. Then, the stain on the floor. Then, back to the idea that he wanted to go back to NCIS. His mind jumped around so much, but it kept coming back to NCIS. He really wanted to get back to his life, the life he'd managed to make even after getting shot in the head.

Tim looked at his mother. It was nice having her here, but he also knew that they couldn't stay here forever.

He got up and went into the bathroom again. He closed the door and turned on the light.

...and he stared at himself in the mirror.

"I'm Tim McGee," he whispered. "I'm still Tim McGee."

The man he could see in the mirror did look a lot like the Tim McGee he had been. That scar, though. It made him different. Different from himself and different from everybody else. He rubbed his fingers over the scar.

Did he wish he had died?

Tim actually thought about that. It was hard to think about that because thinking about whether or not he wanted to be dead, inevitably, led him to thinking about the time when he had believed he _was_ dead. It was hard to think around that, think past it, avoid the fear of it.

To help, he kept staring at himself. He was clearly alive in the mirror.

After a few minutes of staring at himself in the mirror, he came to a conclusion.

"No. I don't want to be dead. Not yet."

That mattered. It mattered a lot because it meant that there was more to him than just that he hadn't died.

Had he known this before all the chaos of the last little while? Tim actually wasn't sure. Probably, he had. Things got jumbled up in his mind, though. It was hard to remember. Maybe when it wasn't so...so close, so _real_, so immediate. Maybe then, he would be able to remember.

There was more than this place. More than being in the hospital.

He kept staring at himself.

"I'm Tim McGee," he said again.

He continued to stare.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Naomi woke up and saw that Tim was not in his bed. She worried a little, but saw the light on in the bathroom. Was Tim looking at himself in the mirror again? She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Keeping herself calm, she walked over and knocked.

"Tim? Are you in there?"

"Yes."

The door opened. Tim had an expression of determination on his face. The last time she'd seen him like this was when he had decided to go back to DC and ask the people at NCIS if they were willing to be friends with him still. It had taken a lot of effort and he had struggled with it, but it had been a good decision. Seeing that expression now made her think that Tim was making another good decision.

"What is it, Tim?" she asked.

"I want to go back to work," Tim said. "I don't want to stay here anymore. I want to go back to NCIS."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Naomi hesitated.

"Tim?"

"I don't like being here, Mom," Tim said. "I don't like how I feel here. I don't like that I can't get back to my routine. I need my routine. You know that I work better that way. I need my patterns because it helps me think. It's hard for me to think right now, and I want to think again."

"Tim, are you sure it's that simple?"

"No," Tim said, honestly. "I don't. I just know that...that I can't feel comfortable here. I can't feel...like myself, and I don't like it."

"Will you let me tell Dr. Khalid about it and see what he says?"

Tim nodded reluctantly. The same feelings that had made him worried about Gibbs being mad at him, about Tony being hurt, now were the feelings making him want to leave. Right now.

"All right. I'll go and find him as soon as your dad gets here."

"Not right now?" Tim asked.

"No. Not right now."

"Okay."

Tim sat and fidgeted.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Why now?"

Tim looked at his mother and tried to think of the words, but he didn't know what they were. Still, he tried.

"I looked at me in the mirror. ...and I'm there."

He could tell that Naomi didn't understand. So he tried again.

"I'm Tim McGee," he said. "That's who I see, and there's more about me than being alive. I have a life. I need it. It's not here. I see me, but not here. I need my life back."

Naomi looked at him for a few seconds and then hugged him tightly.

"Oh, Tim, I wish I could understand how your mind works now. I'm trying, but I'm just not quite understanding. ...but what I do know is that this is important to you, and so I'll talk to Dr. Khalid and have him give us his best ideas."

"Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell sighed as the elevator rose to the balcony. The investigation had stalled a little bit. Tim had apparently done something to the site when he was on it last. No one at the FBI had been able to break through.

So he was coming to request Tim's help. He knew that Tim was still in the psychiatric wing of the hospital. He hadn't been back since everything had melted down. He hadn't expressed it aloud, but Fornell was relieved that Russell was dead. Dead, he'd soon be forgotten. A trial would simply have made what happened stay in the public eye for that much longer.

Technically, he could go the hospital himself, but, given the protective attitude everyone at NCIS had toward Tim, it would be better to cover his bases.

He walked to Vance's office and was admitted.

"Agent Fornell, what brings you here?" Vance asked.

"A couple of things, Director."

"What?"

"First, the FBI has determined that Agent McGee's actions do not warrant any charges. None will be filed for the death of Agent Norris Russell."

"Good of you since he was trying to kill Agent McGee," Vance said mildly.

"That's why they're not pursuing it. They'd rather have this be a minor footnote to the larger case...which is bad enough as it is. A twenty-year veteran exposed as a murderer and smuggler is not exactly the best publicity for the FBI."

"So..."

"First, I'm supposed to inform you of the current status, but I also have a request."

"What's your request?"

"From what little Agent McGee could tell me before, he managed to break through everything that Allen had set up. He knew exactly what was going on...but he also seems to have locked it back up again and no one at the FBI has been able to figure out what he did. We need him to open it up for us. Whatever additional evidence Allen had may lead us to Russell's buyers or just give us more information for what happened."

"And you want me to support your interrogation?"

Fornell sighed. "It's not an interrogation. All I want is for Agent McGee to open up the website again. We know that he's not guilty of anything but being good at his job. He's too good for the FBI tech guys. No one can follow what he did."

Vance sat back and looked at him.

"It so happens that I had a call just before you came from Agent McGee's mother. She was wondering if I'd be open to having him come back to work. He's apparently decided he needs to get his routine back and coming to work is part of that."

"Really."

"Yes. His doctor is a little more uncertain about this, but his parents are supportive. Can you give us a couple of days to work out what's going to happen?"

Fornell was shocked that Vance was even considering it, but he schooled his expression and nodded.

"Of course. If Agent McGee needs to get back into a routine, we can wait, but it would be better sooner than later."

"Understood."

Vance stood and Fornell got that he wasn't going to be encouraged to push. He really did regret what had happened to Tim, and he knew that he was being blamed as the only surviving representative of the people who had nearly killed Tim and, even worse, nearly disconnected his brain. They'd nearly lost Tim already and they wouldn't let that happen again.

He stood as well and left. As he headed back to his office, he thought about what he had seen in the hospital the last time he'd been there. Could Tim really have improved so much in so short a time?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim knew that he had to stay calm, even as his mind was trying to tell him that he was afraid, that there was danger, that he had to get out and get free.

...but at the same time, he couldn't help being worried. What if Dr. Khalid didn't listen to him?

"Okay, Tim, I need you to listen to me and then I'll listen to you. Agreed?"

Tim nodded.

"Good." Dr. Khalid took a breath. "Your mother told me that you want to leave here and get back to your work. She has even called Director Vance to ask if he'd allow you back."

"And?"

"And he's open to it as long as you have medical clearance."

"Do I?"

"That's what we need to talk about."

"Okay. Then...we need to talk," Tim said.

"Up until a couple of days ago, Tim, you were barely coherent. I would even say that you were barely sane. The slightest mention of what happened could send you off. While you're definitely improving, and I'm thrilled, I'm worried that you're not really ready to face the real world again. Even when you were at your best, you had days when you got disoriented, when you couldn't make it places on your own. Are you sure that this is the best idea?"

Tim took a breath. He struggled to keep himself focused on the topic at hand, to think about the words he would need to say to make Dr. Khalid understand.

"I...I was looking at my reflection," he said. "I saw myself. Tim McGee. Dr. Khalid...I need my life, not just living. I don't have my life here. My routine. That's what keeps me...right. Without it...I keep...worrying. I need to be...doing things." He looked toward where his mind still supplied the blood stain. "So I can stop thinking about...about shooting...a gun. I need to be away."

"Do you think you're ready to be in your apartment alone?"

"No," Tim said. He knew he couldn't lie about that. "No, I'm not ready to be alone, and...and I need Jethro back, but I have to start...if I can."

"Who would stay with you?"

"Anyone who would do it," Tim said. "No one would want to stay for long. Tony wouldn't want to stay at all. I don't have an extra bed."

"You want to stay in your own apartment?"

"Yes. I need to. I need my routine again. I need to know that it's safe again. They came to my apartment. They took me from there. I need it to be safe for me again."

Dr. Khalid was silent. Tim had to breathe deeply to keep himself from getting panicked again.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

"I think I do, Tim," Dr. Khalid said.

Then, there was more silence.

Tim tried to wait.

"All right. Before you leave, you need to make a definite plan, Tim. You need to figure out who will stay with you, for how long, and you need to plan on meeting with Dr. Gingras every day. If it's not working, you need to promise me that you will be honest about it. I'm still worried that we're jumping too far, too fast, but I'm willing to let you try...as long as you're going to plan it out and not just run off."

Tim looked around the room he was in and then at Dr. Khalid and his mother.

"I couldn't just run off...could I."

"No, Tim," Naomi said. "You couldn't."

In spite of the panic that made him feel, Tim tried to keep himself calm still.

"I want to leave," he said. "I _really_ want to go home."

"Then, we'll do it," Naomi said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It took another day to get everything arranged. Tim was afraid that no one would want to deal with him while he tried to adjust to living again. He was afraid that things wouldn't work out right. He was worried that Dr. Khalid would be right and it was the wrong time to be trying it.

He was surprised that everyone was willing to take a couple of nights on the floor of his apartment to help him adjust. He knew his parents were glad of it, too. They were willing to stay as long as Tim wanted them to, but he wanted to have them _not_ there to pull him out if he had a meltdown. They couldn't be there to save him. Instead, he told them to go and let him try it out. They didn't want to let that happen, but they also felt they had to trust him and so they agreed...as long as he promised to call.

So, after a day, he went home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You ready, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked at the door to his apartment.

"This is where they were," Tim said softly. "They were right there...when I came home. They took me away."

Gibbs squeezed Tim's shoulder, wishing, for the millionth time, that they had understood the reality of what Tim had told them.

"They're not there anymore. They never will be."

Tim nodded.

"I know."

"Good. Open your door."

Tim unlocked his door and opened it.

There was a bark and Tim smiled.

"Jethro," he said happily.

It was so rare that Tim expressed true happiness anymore that Gibbs found himself smiling in reaction to it. Tim ran forward and knelt in front of his dog and buried his face in his fur.

"Jethro, you're here."

"Feeling better?" Gibbs asked.

Tim nodded without looking up.

For the first time, Gibbs thought that this was a good idea. Tim already looked better than he had been in the hospital.

Maybe things would work out after all.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_Three days later..._

Gibbs woke up to the sound of Tim walking around in his bedroom, the clicking of Jethro's claws on the floor. After spending this much time in Tim's home, he was getting more and more a sense of what it took for Tim to maintain his independence. Granted, Tim wasn't back at his best yet, but he was steadily getting there. Today, he was going back to work for the first time since his breakdown.

He hadn't realized how organized Tim had to be. His clothes, his shoes, his whole routine. It's wasn't just a routine. It was a rigid schedule. Tim had said he needed his routine, and Gibbs had accepted that, but he was only now seeing that it was a _real_ need, not an exaggeration. Tim had days when he was disoriented. Just the day before, Tim had awakened feeling so unsure of where he was that Gibbs and Jethro had both been required to ground him. It was a new understanding of Tim's life and what made it work. ...and how easy it would be for Tim to be lost again.

And Gibbs himself was starting to think about a suggestion that he was sure Tim would hate. The only issue was the timing. When would be the best time for him to broach the subject? When would Tim be most likely to at least hear him out? It wasn't about forcing him to accept what Gibbs would say, but about getting him to give it a genuine consideration.

"Good morning, Boss," Tim said. "I'm going out with Jethro."

"Enjoy," Gibbs said with a smile.

Like clockwork.

Tim and Jethro left the apartment, and Gibbs took the opportunity to call Ducky.

"_This is Dr. Mallard."_

"Ducky."

"_Jethro, good morning. It's rather early."_

"Tim's already out taking Jethro for a walk."

"_Ah. What is it?"_

"I want to ask him this morning."

"_Today? When he's just getting back to work?"_

"He's happy about that. Maybe his mind will be more open."

"_I'm not sure...but you could be right."_

"I'm not going to push, but I want to start trying to get him to think about it."

"_Very well...as long as you don't push him to accept or reject what you'll say. If he refuses to talk about it, let him."_

"I will."

"_Then, I'll support you in this."_

"Thanks."

Gibbs hung up and got ready for the day. He was out of the shower before Tim got back.

The door opened and Jethro came clattering into the apartment. Tim went through the same routine he had every morning. He had settled more and more, and Gibbs could see that trend continuing. ...hopefully. They all knew that Fornell was chomping at the bit to get Tim back to open the site. Whatever he'd done had well and truly stumped the tech people at the FBI, embarrassing as it was for them to admit. Tim knew it was coming, too, and he said he could do it...as long as they didn't make him do it alone.

In fact, Vance had pulled some strings to allow Tim to take Jethro with him, and they were trying to get Tim's dog designated as a service animal. It was clear that his presence helped Tim's state of mind, moreso now than before. He was happier, more relaxed...more stable, when Jethro was with him.

"How far did you go?" he asked.

"Just to the park. Jethro likes chasing the birds. It gives him more exercise."

Tim knelt down and filled Jethro's food dish. He smiled.

"Are you ready to go back?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked up at him and paused for a moment with that familiar expression on his face. Deep consideration.

Finally, he nodded.

"Yes. I want to go back. I want to get back to work. I know you're worried about that, but I want to go back, and I can help Fornell. I don't need to do much. I just wasn't ready before, but I feel like I'm ready now."

"Okay."

Tim nodded again and went into his bedroom to get ready. Gibbs looked at his watch.

When Tim came out, he had taken the exact same amount of time as the day before. He didn't say anything about it. They had breakfast and then, Gibbs drove them to work.

They were walking into the building when Gibbs decided to ask his question and then let the chips fall where they may.

"Tim, before you go in..."

Tim paused, clearly unhappy about it. He wanted to go in and get back to work, no matter what the capacity was.

"Yeah? What?"

"I need to ask you a question."

"Okay."

Tim stood and stared at him, giving Gibbs his full and complete attention.

"As I've been staying at your place the last few days, I've seen some things. Have you ever thought about _not_ living alone?"

Tim's brow furrowed.

"Why?"

"I think it might be a bad idea to keep on that way."

The furrow deepened.

"I'm fine. I have _been_ fine at home. I don't want to give up my home. No!"

"Will you at least hear me out?"

Tim shook his head quickly.

"No. I won't. I can live by myself, and I don't need to have someone else taking care of me!"

Tim turned on his heel and strode into the building. Gibbs sighed. He'd known that Tim wouldn't be happy about the idea, but he'd hoped that he'd be willing to _talk_ about it.

Still, it had been said and it couldn't be unsaid...and Tim wouldn't forget what had been said. He'd think about it. That was a start.

Another sigh and Gibbs followed behind Tim and went inside.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was upset by what Gibbs said, but he tried to pull his mind from that and to getting back to his office. He really wanted to be in his office.

"Agent McGee!" Henry said happily. "I'm glad to have you back here."

"Thanks, Henry," Tim said.

"I'm really happy to pass you on in."

Tim smiled back and walked on through. He walked up the stairs to the bullpen.

"Tim! You're back!" Tony said.

"Yeah," Tim said.

Ziva and Tony both came over. Ziva kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly. Tony gave him a quick thump on the back.

"Abby was going to be here to knock you over with a hug, but she got called down at the last minute for a test, and Vance wouldn't let her stay," Tony said with a grin.

"Saved me, then?" Tim suggested.

"Exactly."

Tim felt a momentary unease as Gibbs' words came back to him, but he tried to keep his focus on the happiness of being back at NCIS. Yes, happiness was the right word. He was happy to be here.

"And Fornell is up in your office, waiting for you to get up there."

Tim smiled.

"I won't make him wait, then."

"We will see you at lunch, Tim," Ziva said.

"Sounds good," Tim said, nodding.

He climbed up the stairs and headed for his office, Jethro by his side. At the door, he paused. It suddenly struck him that he was going into a room with an FBI agent. His last experience with that hadn't been so great. It made him tense up. He took a breath and tried to make himself open the door. Could he face that alone?

Then...Gibbs' words came into his mind again and they made him upset. Upset enough that he opened the door and stepped in.

Fornell had been sitting at the computer staring at the monitor. As soon as Tim came in, he stood up.

"Agent McGee! I'm glad to see you doing so well. I'm really sorry for what happened. I would never have guessed it of Wheeler and Blair...and Agent Russell..."

Tim shook his head. "I don't want to talk about that, Agent Fornell," he said quickly. "Can we not?"

"Of course. Are you ready to let us in?" He gestured to the computer.

"Oh, yeah. I don't really remember locking it up. Couldn't you get in?"

"My people tried...unsuccessfully. Whatever you did, I'm glad that you're on our side."

Tim smiled and sat down. He brought up the Allen site and quickly opened it, getting rid of the block he'd set up somehow. He didn't have any memory of creating it, but he could see the pattern that he had created before and followed it easily.

"There. It should be open for you now," Tim said.

Fornell leaned over and looked at it.

"Could you show me what you found or is that not a good idea right now?"

Tim thought about it.

"Not a good idea. Maybe later," he said.

"That's fine."

Tim furrowed his brow.

"It is?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Fornell chuckled.

"Because it's our fault that you're having this trouble in the first place. The least we can do is make sure you have the time you need to recover. If we can get in, we can find the data ourselves. Welcome back, Agent McGee."

"Thanks."

"No, thank you."

Fornell patted Tim's shoulder and then left the office. Tim looked down at Jethro who began sniffing all the nooks and crannies. Tim sat down and watched him as he investigated his space.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "Is it okay?"

Jethro continued to sniff. Then, he trotted over to Tim, licked at his face and then turned around a few times and settled on the floor. Tim smiled and turned back to his computer. He looked at the site and then got out of it. He didn't want to think about all that for the moment. It still made him afraid, tense, unstable.

...but then, his mind went back to what Gibbs had said.

Tim didn't want to give up his independence. It would be admitting that he couldn't be himself, and he could. He didn't want to give himself up and he couldn't understand why Gibbs would suggest that. It was troubling to say the least. He just didn't know how to take it.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Tim said.

The door opened and Vance came in.

"Agent Fornell told me that you opened the site for them."

Tim nodded.

"I'm not going to ask you about it. They have work they can do and they're trying to make up for what happened. I just wanted to say welcome back. Take today to get yourself back into the groove. Tomorrow, we'll have some projects for you to start on."

"Okay. Thank you, Director," Tim said.

Vance smiled. "I appreciate your skills, Agent McGee, and I don't want to lose them. I'm more than willing to be patient with your recovery."

"Thank you."

Vance turned to leave.

"Do you think I'm still me, Director?"

He turned back.

"What do you mean, Agent McGee?"

"Am I a different person to you?"

Vance's brow furrowed. He was quiet for a few seconds.

"I suppose there are arguments that could be made that you're a different person, but when I see you, I see Agent McGee. If your abilities have changed, that doesn't mean that your identity has changed. As far as I'm concerned, I still see Agent McGee in front of me. The details might be different, but who you are is the same."

Then, he turned around again and left the office.

Tim stared at the closed door. He leaned back in his chair and turned it around to stare out the window. He watched the swirls of patterns as they moved around in his vision. They were almost fractal-like and he enjoyed them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How did it go, Jethro?" Ducky asked.

"It didn't. He heard the first bit and then, he shut it down. He won't forget it, though."

"No, he won't, but I don't know that we should leave it there," Ducky said. "Because he _won't_ forget it, it will cause unnecessary anxiety."

"You're probably right...but it shouldn't be me again. Tim's been avoiding eye contact all day. Every time he's come out of the office."

Ducky nodded. He could see that, particularly if Tim was as disturbed as Ducky figured he was by the suggestion that he live with someone rather than alone.

"I have some time now," he said. "I'll go and see if he'll talk."

"Thanks."

Ducky shook his head. "I'm only doing this because I agree with you, Jethro. I'm afraid of what might happen if Timothy has some trouble that we aren't aware of."

"So am I."

Gibbs left Autopsy. Ducky sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The key was getting Tim to think about it and talk about it without being afraid of the result of those thoughts.

He decided that he might be able to catch Tim and the others coming back from dinner and then talk to him outside if he would be willing to listen. None of the others knew about this idea yet. If Tim wasn't willing to entertain the possibility, then, it would do no good to tell the others and have them asking Tim about it as well.

Quickly, he left Autopsy and walked out to Willard Park. Choosing a bench with a good view, he sat down and waited for Tim to get back.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"...and then, she just kind of stared at us, like she couldn't believe we were real."

Ducky looked over and saw the group returning. Tim was being hugged by Abby and led along by Jethro who was positively dancing with excitement at all the animation in the group. Ducky smiled. It seemed like they'd all had a good time, and he did regret ruining that for Tim, but it didn't _have_ to, if he'd only see it.

"So...is she going to come to work here, then?" Tim asked.

"I think so," Ziva said. "Gibbs seems to think she has potential."

"And she _really_ wants it," Tony added. "She applied to NCIS once before."

"And didn't get in? Why not?"

"Don't know. She didn't tell us."

"Do you like her?"

"She's married, Probie."

Tim laughed. "Not like _that_. Do you like her to work with?"

Tony laughed, too. "Oh. Yeah, I think so. She's really green, but I think she'll be fun to break in."

"Dr. Mallard, what are you doing out here?" Jimmy asked as they neared the building.

"Waiting, taking in the fresh air, enjoying the day. Have a nice time?"

"Yeah."

_And now, I have to ruin that._

"Actually, Timothy, I was hoping to talk to you. Would you mind?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. I'm not really working yet, anyway."

"Yeah, enjoy resting on your laurels," Abby said. "We'll get you to work soon enough. I'll see you after work, okay?"

Tim nodded and smiled as Abby let him go, kissed him on the cheek and then followed Tony, Ziva and Jimmy inside.

Then, Tim turned and walked across the road. He gave Ducky that intense, evaluating gaze.

"I don't really want to be out here, do I."

Ducky smiled. "You may feel that way, I admit, but there's no reason to be afraid. I simply want to talk to you...and I hope you'll listen."

Tim hesitated, looked back at the building and then, he took a deep breath and walked over. He sat down.

"Okay. What?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Ducky took a breath and started the difficult process.

"Jethro told me about his feelings about your living situation."

Tim started to stand up.

"I don't want to live somewhere else! That's my home!" he said loudly.

"Timothy, please. Will you just listen?" Ducky asked, keeping his voice calm. "Neither myself nor Jethro are going to force you into anything. We just want you to hear why we've been thinking about it."

"Both of you?" Tim asked, sounding hurt and betrayed.

"Yes. Both of us, because Jethro has been staying with you and he saw things that told him it might be time to think about making changes, and he wanted my thoughts. When he explained it to me, I agreed with him."

"Without hearing my side of it? What have I done wrong?" Tim asked, sounding plaintive. "I take good care of Jethro, and I keep my apartment clean."

"You're _not_ doing anything wrong, Timothy," Ducky said quickly. "It's not about right and wrong. It's about what would be best for you."

"And I don't get to decide that?" Tim demanded, getting to his feet. "I don't need you to decide for me! I am completely capable of taking care of myself! I am..."

"Timothy," Ducky said gently. "Will you listen?"

Tim looked nothing less than sullen, but he sat down again. Jethro looked worried and licked at Tim's hand. Tim smiled a little and patted his head.

"Will you listen?"

"Yeah."

Once again, Ducky marveled at how much Jethro (the dog) seemed to help Tim's state of mind. He was calmer, more rational with the dog by him. With a little extra training, he would be perfect as a psychiatric guide dog for Tim.

"Timothy, the reason for our concern is because we've now seen just how easy it is for you to become disoriented. Now, granted, what happened to you was extreme, but your reaction to it was much more extreme. We've all known for a long time that you get lost easily, that you need a routine...but, Timothy, you were so disoriented that you didn't even recognize us! You were so panicked, so lost in your mind that we had to have you sedated to calm you down. That was from having your routine disturbed and from an admittedly-frightening threat to your life."

Tim looked at the ground and said nothing.

"Two years ago, we faced the very real possibility of losing you when you were shot. Then, we faced the possibility that you would never regain your sanity when you were lost in your delusion. We have been so happy to have you back, and then, we were once again confronted with the possibility that you would be gone, not through physical injury but from mental breakdown. We don't want to lose you again, Timothy."

Tim still wouldn't look up.

"There's no reason to think that this would happen again."

"Perhaps not this. I agree that it's unlikely. But what Jethro has discovered is how strictly you must regiment your life in order to live independently. Everything exactly in order."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" Tim said.

"No, if that's what works, it's what works. I'm not saying you should learn to live as a slob," Ducky said with a smile. He tried to catch Tim's eye, but Tim refused to look up from the ground. "But when that is what keeps you functioning, when the loss of that destroys your grip on reality... What is troubling is the all-too-real possibility that something might happen that is less serious that will still lead to your being disoriented. Can you deny that you've had trouble remembering when to get off the Metro?"

Tim said nothing.

"Timothy?"

"No."

"So far, nothing has come of it, something that is a great relief to all of us, but what if that changes? What if you suddenly forget to get off the subway and end up lost? Would you have the presence of mind to call for help? Would you wander around until you got back? And even if you could get back easily, do you want to face that happening? Have you had moments that you never told us about? Times when you forgot something and ended up not where you planned?"

There was a silence.

"I tried to go into the wrong apartment once," Tim said softly. "It was my neighbor's door."

"And that was probably a little embarrassing, wasn't it."

"Yeah."

"The other thing that worries us is that you face such disorientations in the mornings, that it's the norm for you, not the exception but the norm. That isn't something you told us. We only knew that you had days that, in your words _felt weird_. Some were to the point that you needed help getting home. Timothy, can't you see how dangerous this could be for you? We shouldn't have let it get to this point before. Perhaps we could have kept this from happening if we had suggested that you not live alone."

"It's my home," Tim said. "I don't want to leave my home."

"I understand that. Really, I do, but there's something to be said for being safe."

Tim shook his head and looked at Ducky. He seemed more distressed than Ducky would have thought.

"It's _my_ home, Ducky," Tim said. "It's part of me. Living there is me."

And Ducky suddenly saw another tendril of Tim's changes. Did he really define himself by where he lived? Even in part?

"Timothy, where you live isn't who you are."

"Isn't it?" Tim asked, rubbing at his scar. "It was my home before and after this. It has who I am in it."

"No, Timothy," Ducky said, taking hold of Tim's arm. "No. If it has anything of you in it, it's because _you_ are there. If you were somewhere else, then, you would be in that other place."

"I don't want to be not me," Tim said. "I don't want to be someone else."

"You wouldn't be," Ducky said. "Timothy, you will _always_ be yourself, no matter where you are."

Tim was definitely bothered. "But, Ducky, I was in the hospital and I...I couldn't really feel who I was. I had to look in the mirror. It wasn't until I came home again that I felt like me...all the way."

"Because of your routine, because you wanted to get out of the hospital, not because your life is defined by your home."

How had this happened? Ducky couldn't figure out how or when Tim had decided that he had to live in his apartment in order to be himself.

"I don't want to lose myself, Ducky! I don't want to be lost again...by giving up who I am!"

"You wouldn't."

"You can't know that!"

Tim was getting worked up again, and Ducky knew how much harder it was for him to think clearly when he was upset.

"Timothy, are you listening?"

"No!"

"Please, Timothy, let me finish. You need to hear what I'm saying."

Tim shook his head, stood and started to leave. The last thing Ducky wanted was for Tim to go away from this feeling like his friends didn't care about what he wanted and were trying to force him to change.

"Timothy, don't go. Not like this."

Tim stopped but didn't turn back.

"Timothy, the only reason Jethro and I are doing this is because we care. What matters is that you are safe and happy. I wouldn't be talking to you like this if I wasn't worried, if I wasn't willing to risk your anger in order to help you."

Jethro started whining at Tim's feet. Ducky stood and walked over to Tim. Based on Jethro's reaction, he was unsurprised to see Tim crying, even if he didn't understand what had brought on the tears this time. He put an arm around Tim's shoulders and guided him back to the bench. That meant some patience while Tim calmed down. Otherwise, the conversation would be wasted. It wasn't a panicked sob. Just tears.

After a couple of minutes, Tim's tears ebbed.

"I want to be me, Ducky. I want to be me," Tim whispered.

"You are. No one can take your identity from you."

"But they can. They have...and I don't want to lose who I am. I don't want to give up the life I used to have," Tim said. The tears began flowing again. "I had to give up my car because I can't drive. I had to give up my job because I can't handle it. I had to give up the way I lived before because I can't do it. I'm losing pieces of me and...and...I'm afraid that I can't lose any more and be me."

"Oh, Timothy," Ducky said with a bit of a smile. He hugged Tim tightly. "No. That's not you. Those things are just...things. They're outside of you. They don't define you. Timothy McGee is much more than his car, his job, his habits...his home. Timothy McGee is a good man, a kind man, someone who has faced more challenges in a couple of years than most people do their entire lives and he's managed to survive and thrive in spite of those challenges. He has a special view of the world that can't be duplicated. He has skills that are beyond my ability to comprehend. Most of all, he is my friend and he has many friends and family who care about him. That's you, not your home or your car."

Tim quieted and sat with Ducky's comforting arms around him for a little while.

"Please understand that we're not going to force you to do anything you really don't want to do," Ducky said when he judged that Tim was calm enough to hear him. "All we want is for you to _think_ about it, give it a genuine chance. If, after you've thought about it, you still say no, then, we'll drop it."

"No one else will," Tim said softly. "They'll keep bringing it up."

"No, because no one else knows. Jethro and I are the only ones...well, and your doctor. We spoke to Dr. Khalid first because we wanted to be sure that this was something that needed discussion before we started it. He agreed. Beyond that, no one else has been told."

Tim sat up and glanced at him briefly.

"How long are you going to give me to think about it?"

"However long you need. I only ask that you tell us once you've done so."

Tim took a deep breath and stared at NCIS.

"What if I say no?"

"Then, we'll accept it and try to help you figure out plans to keep from leading back to what you have already experienced."

"Really?"

"I promise."

"And Gibbs?"

"He will do the same."

Tim was quiet again.

"Why did you do this now?"

"Because, believe it or not, Timothy, we respect your privacy and your right to decide."

"What do you mean?"

"Jethro is only going to stay in your apartment this week. Then, Tony is going to take a turn. He would see the same thing Jethro has and he might not be able to keep it to himself. He _might_ push more than you were willing to take. We wanted you to be able to think about it without that kind of pressure."

Tim nodded.

"Will you think about it, Timothy? At least _consider_ the idea? That's all I ask."

Tim looked at him and then back at NCIS again. Finally, he nodded.

"I will." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Very well. We can be done today, then. ...and until you're ready to talk about it again."

"Okay."

Tim sat for a few more minutes in silence. Then, he got up and walked into the building without looking back at Ducky. Ducky watched him go. That conversation would hopefully be the worst of it. Logically, Ducky knew that Gibbs was right. Tim shouldn't be living alone. He shouldn't have been living alone before, but they all had not realized just what Tim's life had to be like to keep him in his apartment.

However, Tim's fear was not something to ignore. He needed to learn that his life was so much more than the external trappings...but if he couldn't learn that, then, he would be miserable if he moved. Ducky hoped that the conversation today had helped.

Only time would tell.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat alone in his office...well, alone except for his dog. He couldn't forget what Ducky had said, what Gibbs had _tried_ to say. Once the suggestion had been made, Tim couldn't ignore it.

The rest of the day passed without his noticing the time. He was staring up at the ceiling, watching the patterns move around the ceiling.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Tim sat up.

"Come in."

Gibbs opened the door.

"Are you ready to go, Tim?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Let's go."

The computer was already off; so Tim just grabbed his bag and then, with Jethro trotting along beside him, they left NCIS.

All the way home, Tim expected Gibbs to say something. No matter what Ducky had claimed, Tim expected Gibbs to talk about it more, to force Tim to do something.

...but he didn't.

In fact, the ride home was silent. Gibbs parked his car in Tim's space and they walked up to his apartment.

"How was your first day back?" he asked.

"I didn't do much."

"Fornell was glad you were back."

"That only took a minute."

"It's more than they could do. They found the information they needed. They're not going to ask you to show them around."

"Good."

Gibbs went to the space where he kept his sleeping bag and the small bedroll. He'd refused an air bed. Tim took Jethro out for a last walk, looking around at the familiar sights, relying on Jethro to keep him on track.

...and then, he realized what he was doing. He couldn't focus on his thoughts and the space around him at the same time. It was just impossible...and that was something that had changed in him from before. What if Jethro was hurt or ran away?

_Could I get back home again?_

Tim didn't like that thought. He didn't like the sudden, exposed feeling he had. Jethro seemed to sense it and he didn't linger. Instead, he tugged on the leash and led them back home. When Tim came in, he looked around at his things. They were _his_, no one else's. This space was small, cramped...but it was his own.

"Tim? You all right?"

Tim looked over at Gibbs, the part that didn't belong in this space, and he nodded. Then, he walked into his bedroom, got ready and got into bed. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

_My ceiling._

In his bed.

_My bed._

Jethro climbed onto the bed and lay his head on Tim's chest. The weight was comforting.

_How can I leave this familiar, safe space?_

But how safe was it, really? He had been taken from his home because he hadn't been able to conceive of protesting the abduction.

_This is my home._

But he hadn't _always_ lived here. There were other places that had been his home before, even as a child.

Time passed without his noticing. He wasn't really asleep, but he wasn't quite awake, either. He was in that space between the two, that space that had no real form or substance. It was just...thought.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss?"

Gibbs heard the voice, soft as it was. It penetrated his sleep and made him wonder if he'd managed to oversleep even with the less-than-ideal conditions.

"Boss?"

He opened his eyes. It was still dark. He hadn't overslept, then.

"Boss?"

He rolled over. There was Tim, crouched on the floor beside him, looking at him. Gibbs couldn't see his eyes, but he could imagine the expression in them.

"What is it, Tim?"

"This is my home. Where would I go if I left it?"

"What? What time is it, Tim?"

"I don't know. It's dark," Tim said, unnecessarily. "I was thinking."

"Of course, you were," he grumbled and shifted into a sitting position.

"Where would I go?"

Gibbs understood the question, but... He looked at his watch and stifled a sigh. Just after three in the morning.

"Tim, do you need an answer right now?"

"Yes."

So much for that. Gibbs yawned.

"Okay. Then, how about I turn on a light?"

"No. I don't want any light right now."

"Why not?"

"I just don't. Where would I go?"

Chalking that up to one of Tim's incomprehensible quirks, Gibbs accepted it.

"There are lots of options."

"Like what?"

"Ducky said that there are group homes for people who need some help but still want to be independent. There's also the possibility of advertising for a roommate."

"Living with a stranger?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, but they wouldn't stay strangers."

"But I would stay that way for them."

"What?"

"My friends think I'm strange. Someone I don't know at all wouldn't ever get past that. Are those the only options?"

"No. Ducky and I also thought that you might want to move in with one of us."

"One of you?"

"We have the room to spare. Of course, I'm sure that Tony or Ziva or Abby would be willing as well if we asked them. Do you want us to ask?"

"No."

"Tim, why now?"

"Because I was thinking about it. Ducky asked me to."

"Have you decided?"

Could it really be that simple?

"No. I just wanted to ask. Thanks, Boss. I'm going back to bed. Maybe I'll really sleep now. Maybe the patterns will make more sense."

Then, Tim stood up and walked into his bedroom. Gibbs stared at the now-closed door. At least, Tim was thinking about it.

...but _what_ was he thinking?


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Tony looked at his watch.

"Lunch time. I'll go get Tim."

"Are you sure?" Ziva asked. "I can go."

"No. I'm fine. You want to come with us, Bishop?" he asked.

Ellie looked up.

"Oh...I thought that was kind of you guys' thing," she said.

"It is, but if you're part of the team, you're welcome to come along, too," Tony said. "...but you don't _have_ to if you don't want to."

"I've heard of him, of course," Ellie said. "Everyone in DC who works on the tech side of things has heard of Tim McGee, how amazing his skills are, how much he can do all on his own...and how he got that way. ...but...what's he like?"

Ziva smiled. "A little strange until you get used to him, but after that, he is a very nice person."

"He can't focus on a lot of things at once; so we usually try to keep the conversations simpler when he's with us. We go places that aren't as busy because he gets distracted."

"And we usually walk so that he gets outside during the day. He doesn't notice time passing when he works."

"And he wouldn't mind me being there?"

"As long as you don't treat him like he's stupid or like he's a freak," Tony said. "He's still smart, just has some challenges. And _we_ don't accept people treating him bad."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then, you're welcome to come. Do you want to?"

"Uh...sure."

"Don't sound so happy about it, Ellie. I might think you're enjoying yourself."

Ellie rolled her eyes, but she smiled.

Tony headed up to Tim's office. He paused at the closed door, hoping that things would be normal inside. He knocked.

"Come in."

Tony tensed a little as he opened the door. Tim was sitting at his computer, but it was off. Tim was staring at the ceiling, closing one eye and then the other.

"What are you doing, Tim?" Tony asked.

"Looking at the ceiling."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Don't you ever try to understand how what you see might be different from other people?"

"Not by staring at the ceiling."

"Yeah." Tim sat up and looked at him and then down at Jethro. "Is it time for lunch?"

"Yep. Ellie is coming with us. Hope you don't mind."

Tim shook his head. "No. Does _she_?"

"No. She might stare a bit, though."

"I can deal with that." He knelt down, hugged Jethro and then got up and followed Tony out of the office.

Tony thought Tim seemed a little distant, but that could just be because he was still adjusting. He didn't want to draw attention to it. Instead, they went down to the bullpen and all headed out, talking about nothing important.

"I'm not doing much yet," Tim said. "Vance said he wanted to take his time getting me back to normal."

"That is probably a good idea," Ziva said. "You have a lot to recover from."

"What _have_ you been doing?" Ellie asked suddenly. Then, she flushed a little. "That is, if it's okay that I ask. I've heard a lot about you, Agent McGee."

"You have?" Tim asked, his brow furrowing.

Abby put out a hand and stopped him from stepping into the street.

"I've never worked with the NSA, and I know I haven't worked with you before."

"Because you're famous, Agent McGee," Ellie said. "At least, you are to people like me."

"Why? I'm doing the same kinds of things I was before."

Ellie shook her head, oblivious to the looks she was getting. "No, what you've been doing is _way_ different. From what I've heard, it's like when I get into a groove only multiplied by a factor of a hundred, at least. I think it's amazing."

"Oh...uh...thanks," Tim said.

"Okay. Too far? It was too far, wasn't it," Ellie said.

"Maybe a touch," Tony said.

"It's okay," Tim said. "I'm...flattered. ...I think."

Ellie laughed and they continued on their way. They had lunch. Tim didn't contribute much to the conversation. He tried to listen, but he got distracted more than usual. Tony noticed, and he just hoped that it was nothing.

Suddenly, just before they finished, Tim refocused on them.

"What if I moved?" he asked.

"Uh...what?" Abby asked. "What do you mean, Tim?"

"If I moved from my apartment and lived somewhere else."

"You're going to move?" Jimmy asked.

"What if I did? What would that mean?"

"You'd have a new address?" Tony suggested.

"No. That's not what I'm asking," Tim said.

"Then, what _do_ you mean?" Ziva asked. "I do not think we understand."

"What would that mean about _me_?" Tim asked. "Who I am?"

"Nothing," Tony said after a moment of confused silence. "Why would it mean _anything_ about you? Your apartment isn't you."

"It isn't?" Tim asked.

"No!" Abby said. "No, not at all, Tim! Your apartment is just a place. It doesn't have anything to do with you. Well, it does, but it's not who you are."

"Yeah, your apartment is small and cramped and not really all that impressive," Jimmy said. "And that's not you at all."

Tim smiled a little, but he seemed bothered.

"Are you moving, Tim?" Tony asked.

"Not right now...but what if I did?"

"Then, you'd better not move very far," Abby said.

"And you'd better let us know where you move to," Jimmy added.

"That's all?"

"We'll help you pack?" Tony said, wondering what Tim was trying to get at. Something about the way Tim was asking made it seem a lot more important than it should...but then, that was Tim.

Tim just shrugged and then, he stood.

"I'm done."

"Okay. I'm fine with that," Tony said. "Anyone else?"

"As long as I can get a doggie bag for my leftovers," Ellie said. She ran to the counter and got a bag. She came back, wrapped up her leftover sandwich and then put it and her chips in the bag. "Don't want to waste anything."

They left, this time with Tim in the lead. However, he didn't stay in the lead because Jethro forced him to slow down and the others were there to make sure he didn't wander into the road. Tony could tell that there was something going on. It wasn't like before, but it was something.

He decided that, even though he was probably not the best person to be doing it, he would ask Tim if something was wrong. Better that than to let him slip away again because they hadn't been paying attention.

When they got back to NCIS, Tony unobtrusively followed Tim back up to his office. He knew that everyone noticed, but he just kept on talking, acting as if this was normal. When they got back and went up the stairs, Tim gave Tony a look, but said nothing about it. As soon as they were inside, Tim raised his eyebrows.

"You're following me, Tony. I'm not having the same problem I was. Really."

"But something's going on. I can tell."

"I don't want to talk about it," Tim said and sat down at his desk.

Jethro sat up, panting eagerly. Tim smiled and gave him a dog treat.

"Why not?" Tony asked. "I'm not going to push you if that's what you've decided, but why don't you want to talk about it?"

"Because I don't," Tim said. "I want to keep it to myself for now. I'm allowed to have privacy!"

"Whoa, Tim. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you upset." After Tim's last breakdown, that was the _last_ thing Tony wanted to do.

"It's just something that I need to do. If I want to tell you, I will."

"Okay."

Tony turned back to leave.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I still me?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? Could anything change that?"

Tony turned back with a furrowed brow.

"Like what?"

Tim shrugged. "Anything?"

"I can't think of anything."

"Why not?"

"Uh...because...you're still you. I know I'm not the best at understanding that all the time, but..."

"Am I, though? I'm different, Tony. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows that I'm different."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean that you're not yourself. Everyone changes. I'm not the same as I was before. I didn't take a bullet but..." Tony took a deep breath. "...but my friend did and I couldn't stay the same after that. ...but I'm still me, just different. Same with you."

Tim furrowed his brow and then nodded. Without another word, he turned back to his computer and started working. Tony stared at him for a moment and then left.

When he got to his desk, he brushed off Ziva's question about what he was doing and pulled up some song lyrics. It seemed like forever ago that he and Ziva had read the lyrics of the old Kansas song Tim had been listening to.

_Masquerading as a man with a reason,  
__My charade is the event of the season  
__And if I claim to be a wise man  
__Well, it surely means that I don't know._

_On a stormy sea of moving emotion  
__Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean  
__I set a course for winds of fortune  
__But I hear the voices say_

Carry on. What choice did Tim have, really? He could live and carry on or he could die, and he had said that he didn't want that. Tony believed him, but he wondered how hard it was for Tim to get along in the world that _had_ changed but not as drastically as he had. What part of that song had actually resonated with Tim? How much of it was just the feelings of that one moment?

...and at the end of all this, did it really matter?

Tony didn't know, and he wouldn't claim that he did.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sighed and worried for a few minutes after Tony left, but then, he really did get back to work. It was better to work than to worry, if he could manage it.

After an unknown passage of time, there was a tentative knock on the door. He heard it, but it didn't really register. Jethro started nudging him, bringing him out of the zone and he heard the soft knock again. He turned around.

"Come in?"

The door opened and Ellie poked her head in.

"Hi," she said.

"Uh...hi."

She stepped inside.

"I don't want to bug you. I'm sure you're busy, but I just wanted to say how much I really admire what you do."

"Why?" Tim asked. That was one of the oddest things he'd heard. He was managing to live and work after being shot in the head. There wasn't a lot to admire.

Ellie smiled. She seemed a bit awkward, but Tim was relieved that he couldn't see the kind of derision in her eyes that others seemed to feel.

"It's just that...you can do so much. I didn't know you before, of course, but I think that it's amazing what you do. It was an honor to meet you today, and any amount of work I do with you will be wonderful."

Tim wasn't sure how to respond.

"Uh...you may not think that if you actually work with me."

"Why?"

"Because I see different things. I can't describe them, but I do, and people don't know how to deal with them because it makes me different. Some people think I'm a freak."

Ellie furrowed her brow for a moment. Then, her expression cleared.

"That's okay with me."

"Why?" Tim asked. "Why is it okay with you?"

"Because it's okay with your friends. All they care about is you being okay, and you seem to be...more or less. I mean, I didn't know you before. I can't compare...but you're not crazy."

"Not right now. I was."

"I heard about it. I'm sorry for that. Doesn't seem fair."

"No. It's not."

"How different is it for you than it was...if you don't mind my asking?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know, really."

"You don't?"

"I don't really...remember how it felt. I remember the events, but I can't remember the feelings. I just know that I can't do what I did before."

"Well, I don't want to stand here staring at you, but I hope you don't mind that I'm part of the team."

"I'm never going to be there again," Tim said and realized that he'd never said that before. It was understood, but not spoken. "Someone has to be."

Ellie smiled with an emotion Tim couldn't quite understand.

"Well, thanks. I'd better get back to work before Tony and Ziva start teasing me again. I'm still glad that I have a chance to know you, Agent McGee."

Tim just nodded and watched her go. After the door closed, he stared at it. She wanted to know him...and she had called him by his name. Tim looked down at Jethro.

"What's right, Jethro?" he asked. "What do I do? Can I be me? Does Ellie know me as I am? Does she know Tim McGee or is it someone else?"

Jethro whined at him. Tim knelt on the floor and hugged his dog tightly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do you think, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky shook his head. "I don't know, Jethro. It remains to be seen if Timothy can think logically about this. Where he's hung on to the idea that he has to be in his apartment to be himself...I can't predict what his choice will be, but I still feel that it's a risk to let him live alone. We just didn't realize how dangerous it was before, but it's always had this element of risk. I hope, for his sake, that he can see it himself."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I don't know. We'll have to see what we can do to help him."

"Well, it's about time to go. It's my last night at his place. Tony will notice the same things I did."

"Yes, he will."

Gibbs got to his feet to go, but the doors to Autopsy opened, and Tim walked in, Jethro trotting faithfully by his side. Since he'd come back to work at NCIS, the number of times Tim had noticed that the day was over could be counted on one hand.

"Timothy, I'm surprised to see you down here."

"Am I late, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

Tim's brow furrowed in a momentary confusion. So he _hadn't_ noticed the time.

"Did you have something you needed?"

"I've decided," Tim said.

"About what?"

"You told me to think. I have. I've decided."

"What have you decided?" Ducky asked.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Tim began rubbing at his scar. He was worried about what he'd decided.

"Timothy?" Ducky asked.

He walked over to where Tim was standing. He reached out, but Tim turned away from him.

"Timothy. You said you'd decided."

Gibbs walked over to him as well. Tim wouldn't look at him, either.

"Tim, what is it?"

Tim kept rubbing his hand over the scar on his forehead. Gibbs reached out and gently pulled Tim's hand down.

"Tim."

"You don't think I should live alone."

"No, I don't."

"Because I can't handle it."

"Because there's a risk. We've already seen what _can_ happen."

"Because I'm different."

"Yes," Ducky said. "There's no questioning that, but that doesn't have to be all bad, Timothy. It's just that there are different challenges you didn't have before and you must adapt accordingly."

"But why?" Tim asked, pleading for the answer he wanted, not what was true.

It was times like this that Tim seemed more like a child than an adult. He knew the truth, but he was trying to change it, trying to get others to change it for him. Gibbs looked at Ducky who took a breath and then gently put his arm around Tim's shoulders and led him to an autopsy table. Tim sat on it, rubbing at his scar again.

"Timothy, this is the life you have, and since it _is_ life, you need to cherish and protect it. There's no reason to risk it needlessly, and we care about that."

Tim swallowed hard and started to cry again.

"Tim, if that's how you feel, we're not going to force you to listen to us," Gibbs said.

Tim shook his head.

"N-No... I know...I know that...that...y-y-you're right. I know, but..." The tears overwhelmed him and that's all he could say.

"Timothy, I know you're afraid of changing, but you don't need to be. We'll take it slowly, carefully. We'll plan it out, whatever you choose."

"But you need to say it, Tim," Gibbs said. "It needs to be you. Not us."

Tim took a breath...and then, another one. He looked at Gibbs and then, at Ducky.

"Can I live with you, Ducky?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Of course. I offered my home as a possibility, but you don't have to feel that it's necessary that you do that. You can..."

"You said that I could," Tim said. "Did you mean it?"

"Of course," Ducky said. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't mean it. Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I lived with you before," Tim said.

Ducky smiled. "Yes, you did, and you were a courteous guest."

Tim didn't smile. It was clear that, while he was acknowledging that it was the best idea, he wasn't happy about the decision.

"Can I still ride the Metro to work sometimes?"

"Of course, Timothy."

Tim licked his lips and stared at the floor.

"Can I be alone sometimes?"

"Yes. Timothy, we don't have to figure everything out right this moment."

"Then...can I go home, now?" Tim asked.

"Yes," Gibbs said. "Let's go."

He raised an eyebrow at Ducky.

"Timothy, we'll talk about this more on the weekend."

"What do I tell everyone else?" Tim asked softly.

"That you're moving and you could use some help packing," Gibbs said.

"But they'll ask why."

"Timothy, you can tell them whatever you wish to. If you don't want to say that it was our suggestion, that's fine. If you _do_ want to say it was our suggestion, that's fine."

"Okay."

Tim walked out of Autopsy with Gibbs. They went back to Tim's apartment in silence. Gibbs couldn't read Tim's expression although he could guess that part of it was just Tim still being upset.

Tim went to bed early, or at least, he went into his room and turned off the light. Gibbs stared at the closed door. Then, he took a breath and looked around Tim's apartment. He really looked at it, for maybe the first time. It was filled to the brim, nearly bursting with stuff. Much of it, though, had an unused look to it. Many of the books were dusty. Tim's computer junk clearly hadn't been touched in ages. Was Tim just not interested in it anymore? Or was it that it took so much concentration to get through a day that he didn't have time or energy for it any longer? Would Ducky's house have enough space for all this? What if it didn't? Would Tim be willing to give some of it up? Then, Gibbs walked over to Tim's typewriter. If anything had typified the essence of who Tim was before, it was this typewriter. He couldn't tell if it had been used, but it had definitely been cared for. Certainly, Tim hadn't been using it while Gibbs was there, but then, this was a different situation. Tim was almost back to normal, well, normal for him. But there were other things going on, not the least of which was Ducky and Gibbs asking him to think about leaving this place.

It was a hard thing they were asking of him, and it was to his credit that he had been able to _think_ about it at all, let alone agree with them. Gibbs felt they were right about this, but he knew it was hard for Tim to accept it.

He lay down on the floor, thinking that it would be nice to sleep in a bed again, but he didn't sleep for a long time. He just lay in the dark, hoping that Tim could still be happy with the dramatic change in his life.

It was a couple of hours later, and the door to Tim's bedroom opened. Gibbs sat up.

"What is it, Tim?"

"Boss...will you take me somewhere?"

"Right now? After midnight?"

"Yes. Will you?"

"Where?"

"Will you take me?"

"I have to know where you want to go," Gibbs said.

"Out of the city. Into the open. In the dark."

"Why?" Gibbs asked. While they had addressed Tim's worries about leaving DC, Tim hadn't shown much interest in leaving the city once he had come back from Ohio.

"The sky is clear."

Stargazing? Now? Gibbs wished that he could understand Tim's mindset, but he didn't, not most of the time. But he wasn't sleeping anyway. It wouldn't hurt to take Tim out to see the stars.

"Any particular place?"

"West."

"Okay. Let's go."

Gibbs grabbed some shoes, a jacket and his keys and went out to his car. Tim got in and let Gibbs drive in silence. About fifteen minutes later, they were beginning to leave some of the brighter lights behind. Finally, after half an hour, Tim grabbed his arm.

"There's a place. Turn off."

Gibbs did as he was told. He pulled off the road and Tim got out without waiting. He hurried to the middle of a small, open field. Then, he stared up at the stars.

"What are you looking at, Tim?"

Tim stared for a long time without answering. Then, he sighed, but it wasn't his usual sigh of frustration or resignation. It was a sound of contentment that Gibbs rarely heard from Tim anymore.

"This is the only place where I can't see the patterns," he said quietly.

"What patterns?"

"The patterns I always see, in my vision, in my eyes. They're always there, but in the dark, I can't see them. It's a meteor shower tonight. I saw it, and I wanted to see it...without the patterns...and it's okay that I can see them. They help, but I don't have to see the patterns here. I don't have the pressure of seeing past them, of seeing through them, of knowing what they mean."

"And what do they mean?"

"It doesn't matter right now," Tim said. "All that matters is...up there."

"How long do you want to stay out here?"

Tim just shrugged and didn't look away from the sky. After a while he lay down on the grass and kept watching. Gibbs could see that Tim wasn't leaving any time soon; so he lay down as well and looked up.

"There's one!" Tim said, pointing.

Gibbs missed it. The meteor was faster than his eyes.

For the next hour, Tim just lay where he was, occasionally pointing at the shooting stars when they came. Gibbs began to get a feel for where they would be appearing and he saw more of them.

It was getting chilly.

"Tim, are you ready to go back yet?"

"No."

Gibbs smiled to himself. There was another difference. The hint that they should leave was missed completely.

After another half an hour, Gibbs noticed a change in Tim's breathing. He looked over and saw that Tim was asleep. He sat up and looked at the man beside him. Tim had faced a lot of challenges, and he would for the rest of his life. There was no reason to think that he wouldn't live a normal life span. Ducky wouldn't live forever. Neither would Gibbs. Was moving him in with the oldest friend he had really the best option? ...but then, Tim himself had chosen. Maybe this was the best way to get Tim in the right frame of mind. Live with someone he'd already lived with for a while and see that he could still be himself that way. Then, if necessary, he could find a different roommate. Would it be useful to tell Tim to think about that eventuality? Probably not. Tim didn't plan much in advance. He lived much more in the moment than he had. He just couldn't work in the same way and that was fine. There would be others to take those problems into account later on.

For now, however, Tim needed to wake up and go home.

Gibbs leaned over and shook Tim gently.

"Tim, it's really late. Time to go home."

Tim opened his eyes.

"I fell asleep?"

"Yeah."

Tim sat up and then, looked up into the sky again.

"There's one!" he said, pointing.

Gibbs looked up, but it was already gone. He smiled. That's pretty much how he always felt about Tim. Never quite in the same moment.

"Time to go," he said again.

Tim stood up and walked back to the car. He was strangely relaxed after his tension throughout the day. Gibbs debated whether or not he should break that relaxation...and decided that there was no reason to do that right now. Let Tim be relaxed, content...even happy. It was rare enough for him, lately.

He drove Tim back to his apartment. They got out and went inside. Tim headed for his room, but then, he turned back.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to be someone else. I want to be me."

"You are. You will always be you. Nothing can take that from you."

"Not even this?" Tim asked, pointing at the scar on his head.

"Not even that. It changed you, but it didn't kill you. So you are still Tim McGee. Anyone who tries to say differently is wrong."

Tim looked at him and then, he walked over and hugged Gibbs quickly.

"Thank you."

Then, he walked back into his bedroom and closed the door. Gibbs smiled and lay back down. Whatever had led to that change, Gibbs was glad to see Tim less fearful.

The lights were out. It was dark.

Gibbs went to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I'm going to move to Ducky's place," Tim said with no preamble.

There was a moment of stunned silence. It was dinnertime and they were on their way to get something to eat. Tim hadn't been saying anything. Tony had been talking, but Tim had broken into the conversation with that statement.

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked. "Why would you do that?"

"Tim, when did this happen?" Abby asked.

"Let him talk, guys," Tony said quickly. He didn't want to have Tim get pushed into anger again.

"Thanks," Tim said. "I'm going to move into Ducky's house. He has room. He said I could."

"Why?" Jimmy asked.

"Because I...I have problems, sometimes, and Ducky and Gibbs suggested that I should think about it. So...I did. They're right. I don't want to get lost, messed up... I don't want to go crazy again. Sometimes, I need help. If someone is there, I can have help when I need it. So...I'm going to move."

Another moment of silence.

Tony tried to think about what to say. There was no question that he liked the idea of Tim having someone always there, but it was still a surprise...and how to say that he was glad without stomping on whatever reservations Tim might have?

"Are you happy about it?" Jimmy asked.

"No," Tim said. "But it's the best idea, and maybe I can like it. Ducky said that I could still be me."

"Of course, you can!" Abby said. "You're always you, and that'll be fun! Living with Ducky would be a blast, and you know that if you wanted time to yourself, he wouldn't force himself on you. ...like I would." She grinned.

Tim smiled at her.

"You don't mind?"

"It's _your_ life, Tim," Tony said. "We don't have the _right_ to mind."

"But do you mind?"

"No. I think it's probably a good idea, even if I would never have thought of it."

"You think so?"

"Yes," Ziva said. "I would not have thought that you would be willing to consider it, even. I am proud of you for doing that."

"Thanks."

Tim looked around at them all, and then, he smiled.

"Thank you."

Abby hugged him tightly.

"Now, should we go to dinner? I think Ellie's about to starve."

Ellie laughed. "I can wait. ...as long as we still get to eat."

Tony laughed. "We'll eat. You ready, Tim?"

"Yeah."

"Then, let's go. ...and when, it's time for you to move, we'll help you pack."

Tony was rewarded with a smile. Whatever came of this, he was sure that it would be good.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

_One month later..._

"There!" Tony declared triumphantly as he dropped a box on the floor. "That's the last box. We're done!"

"Maybe _you're_ done, Tony," Ellie said. "I don't see _done_ here. I see piles of boxes."

While the banter continued, Tim stared at the piles of stuff that seemed to have exploded into Ducky's house. There was so much of it, and Ducky had modified the entire layout of his home so that Tim could have his own space. He had a bedroom and an office and a bathroom all to himself. With the exception of the kitchen and living space they would share, it was almost the same amount of room he'd had before.

It was nice, but Tim was still worried about it, and with all his stuff in bags and boxes, it was hard to feel like this was home. Everyone told him that he would feel better with time, but he hadn't so far.

"Tim?"

Tim jumped and looked around. Everyone was looking at him.

"Timothy?" Ducky asked.

"Everything is...unorganized," Tim said. "It's not home."

"Can you delay organizing it long enough to have dinner?"

Tim looked at the mess, and he shook his head.

"No."

Suddenly, Ellie stepped forward with a smile on her face.

"I know how you feel, Tim. I hate leaving things undone, _messy_," she said. "But it's going to take a long time to get all this stuff organized, isn't it?"

Tim nodded.

"Then, how about we do just your bedroom right now? We could get that done fast enough. Your boxes are all really organized."

"You just want to eat," Tony said.

"Not just," Ellie said with a grin.

"You don't all have to stay," Tim said.

"Yeah, we do," Tony said. "We can't go and eat and leave you here sorting through boxes alone."

"Would the bedroom be enough?" Ziva asked.

Tim shrugged.

"That's what you'd see first thing. Then, tomorrow, you could get the rest unpacked and organized," Ellie said.

Tim thought about it. It didn't seem like a bad idea. He definitely hated the boxes sitting there with his stuff in them...but it would take hours to unpack. He looked at his stuff and then back at Ellie. He was surprised that she was so willing to help him out. ...but still...

Jethro nuzzled his hand. Tim looked down at his dog and then knelt on the floor and hugged him. However he did it, Jethro always seemed to know when Tim was starting to get upset.

"Okay," Tim said. He got to his feet and walked to the stack of boxes that were all labeled _Bedroom_. He picked up the one that held his clothing and carried it into the bedroom. He walked over to the chest of drawers and carefully began unpacking the box. All the clothes went into the same spots they had been at his apartment.

"Tim?"

Tim looked up and saw Ellie standing there with his shoes.

"Yeah?"

"I thought that maybe you might have an order that you wanted your shoes to be in the closet."

Tim smiled a little.

"Yeah, I do."

"Do you want to do it or do you want to just tell me?"

"I'll do it," Tim said. He took the box and walked over to the closet. "Ellie?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you so okay with this, with me?"

Ellie looked at him for a long moment and then she smiled.

"Because...I can understand wanting things to be in order, knowing that things have to be in a certain way to be right. It's one of the reasons I was so good at my job at the NSA. I noticed things being wrong."

"It's not just about _wanting_," Tim said.

"I know. You need things in order. That's okay. If your feeling is stronger than mine, it doesn't mean I can't get it. Besides, everyone has things that they need to function. If yours are more complicated, it doesn't make it completely strange." Then, she laughed a little. "Besides, I didn't know you before. I only know you as you are, not as you were...and I think you're nice enough as you are now."

Tim looked at her for a long moment. Ellie might be the first person not to be put off by his quirks. ...and that was a good thing. He smiled.

"Thanks, Ellie."

"No problem, Tim. Now, is there something I can put away that won't mess up your order?"

"The clothes in that box go into the bottom drawer. As long as they're folded..."

"I can handle that."

Ellie walked over to his chest of drawers and sat down, cross-legged beside the box. Tim watched her for a moment and then bent over to arrange his shoes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony backed away from the door as Ellie and Tim worked in companionable silence. He would never have expected Ellie Bishop to be the one who _got_ Tim so instinctively. That wasn't to say that there weren't awkward moments, but her brain just followed Tim's track better than most of them could.

_Especially me._

Tony sighed to himself. He knew he was better than he'd been, but he was still awkward...and it wasn't right that a stranger could come in and be easier with Tim than his friend of ten years could.

"They could almost be birds of a feather, couldn't they," Ducky said in a low voice.

Tony turned and looked at him and then back into the bedroom.

"Timothy is a few steps beyond her in terms of his idiosyncrasies, of course, but there is something about her that meshes with him quite easily."

"Yeah."

Ducky raised an eyebrow. "Envious?" he asked.

"Maybe a little."

"You're his friend, Anthony. That won't change because someone else comes into his sphere."

"I know, but I think I'm more envious of how easy it's been for her."

"You still have time," Ducky said. "Thankfully, there is plenty of time."

"Yeah."

He looked back toward Tim's bedroom where he was now sitting with Ellie on the floor, showing her how to fold his t-shirts. Ellie didn't seem at all bothered by Tim's exacting requirements. She accepted it with the equanimity that Abby would.

Maybe it was time to make more of an effort than he had up to this point.

Suddenly, Ellie jumped up.

"I think we're ready to eat!" she announced.

Tim got up more slowly, but he did smile a little.

"Bedroom all organized, then?" Gibbs asked.

Tim nodded.

"We've got the furniture set up in the office, but you'll have to put your books on the shelves."

Abby and Ziva came out of the bathroom.

"Everything put away in there, too, Tim," Abby said. "If you need to change any of it, we won't mind."

Tim laughed.

"I'm ready to eat, then," he said.

"Good. Let's go."

They headed over to Gibbs' place to have dinner, rather than forcing Tim to exert a lot of effort trying to focus on anything happening at the table. It was simple, and Tim clearly appreciated it. They chatted in the calmer, slower way they tended to use when Tim was with them. Not simplistic, but simpler.

Then, after dinner, they all helped clean up and Tim and Ducky started to leave. Suddenly, though, Tim turned back.

"Thanks," he said. "For everything."

"Anytime, Tim," Ziva said. "We will always be willing to help if you need it."

"I know." He nodded quickly and then wiped at his eyes and left with Ducky.

After the door closed, Ziva nodded a little to herself.

"I feel so much better knowing that he is with Ducky and not by himself anymore," she said.

There was heartfelt agreement around the room.

"It'll take a while for him to feel the same way, I think," Jimmy said. "Hopefully, not too long."

"Eventually."

Tony didn't say anything, but he agreed. Hopefully, Tim would be happy to have someone to lean on...sooner, rather than later.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, Timothy, how are you feeling?"

Tim was looking around the room, a little nonplussed.

"Timothy?"

"I don't know, Ducky. Now that it's happened...it's reality. I just..."

"You're feeling anxious."

"Yeah."

"To be expected. It will take time, and you have it. As much time as you need. Your psychiatrist told you as much, didn't he?"

Tim nodded.

"I know you have to be worried, but remember that this is your home now. You're not a visitor. You don't have to ask permission to do anything. I'm not in charge."

"I'll try to remember."

"Are you going to bed?"

Jethro nudged at him and whined. Tim looked down and smiled. Jethro was currently in training to become an official psychiatric service dog and while the process would take time, it would make things easier for Tim to have Jethro officially recognized for what he was already doing.

"I think Jethro is ready for bed."

"If you can't sleep, you don't need to worry about getting up if you want to. It's your home, too, and anything you would do in your apartment, you can do here. Even use your typewriter."

"I haven't been," Tim said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just haven't."

"Well, you don't have to, but it's there for you."

Tim nodded. Ducky decided to leave him to adjust to his new situation, showing his confidence in Tim by letting him do as he chose to.

"Good night, then, lad. You'll have all tomorrow to organize the rest of your belongings."

"I know."

Ducky patted Tim on the shoulder and went upstairs to go to bed. Tim might still be ambivalent, but Ducky was happy to have someone else in his house. Living alone wasn't his ideal, and he hoped that Tim would see the positives in it as well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim looked around his bedroom. He had to keep reminding himself that he _was_ home. This was now his home. That other place was no longer his home. It was just that this was different. Not as different as it could be because he'd lived here for a time once before.

...but it was different.

Jethro nudged him again and Tim let the German shepherd urge him toward the bedroom. He had his own space. That was good. It would just take time.

Tim got ready for bed...in a bathroom that felt strange to him but not unfamiliar. Then, he went into the bedroom...that he'd slept in before but didn't feel like his. He sat down on the bed.

_This is my home. This is my home. It's okay. It's my home. I'm still me. I'm just here instead of there. It's okay. This is my home._

Tim kept up the mantra in his head as he lay down and stared at the ceiling...the unfamiliar ceiling.

He couldn't hear anything from Ducky upstairs. It was quiet.

"Jethro?" he called out.

There was a clatter of paws and then, he felt the weight on the bed as Jethro leapt up and then, the comforting weight of Jethro's head as he settled beside Tim. It grounded him, as Jethro had always been able to do...as physical contact always did for him. It kept him from feeling that disorientation that he always feared, that would always be a part of his life.

He lay there for a long time, not paying attention to how _much_ time was passing, just feeling Jethro on his chest, trying to adjust to this feeling of being in a different place, a place that was still anchored to the earth. He wouldn't fall off here.

He closed his eyes.

_I'm home. I'm home. I'm me. I'm alive. I'm safe._

After an unknown amount of time, Tim began to believe what he was telling himself. It still didn't feel _quite_ like home, but it was real. It was reality. It was him.

Tim fell asleep in his new home.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Sometimes, Tony hated the way things were, but it was time to change that...or at least take the steps needed to change it. He walked up to Tim's office. Ziva was out with Ellie doing interviews. Gibbs was down with Ducky and Jimmy, going over the autopsy. Abby was swamped in her lab.

Tony was the only one who had time for lunch.

...well, the only one besides Tim.

He knocked on the door.

No response. Tony grimaced and walked in. Tim was at his computer while Jethro lay on the floor. He lifted his head and his tail started wagging when he saw Tony. Tim didn't seem to notice. Jethro got up and padded over to Tim. Tony watched as he started nudging Tim's hand. He made a strange sound in the back of his throat, and finally, Tim looked away from the monitor and at him.

"Hi, Jethro," he said.

"Hey, Tim," Tony said.

Tim looked up at him and smiled.

"Hi, Tony." He looked out the window and then at the time display on his computer. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, and it's just me today. Everyone else is busy."

"Okay."

Tim turned back to his computer, saved his work and then, he got up, grabbed Jethro's leash and they headed out. As they walked together, Tony tried to think of something to say...but for some reason, his mind was blank. He didn't usually have that trouble with Tim. He was awkward, but not _this_ awkward. Maybe it was because he was trying to build up his courage to address a difficult topic.

But it wasn't like they'd never talked about it before. It seemed like ages ago that he had given Tim a ride to work and they'd had their first real conversation about Tony's lingering difficulties with accepting how Tim had changed. At the same time, however, it felt like they'd never really talked about it...not enough.

"Where are we going?" Tim asked, when they got outside.

"I was thinking we'd just get something from the food court and eat it outside. That all right?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Tim walked beside him. When Tony looked at him, he couldn't see anything lingering from Tim's recent experiences. He seemed back to his new normal...although with it being more than two years since he'd been shot, it wasn't exactly _new_ anymore.

They walked into the food court. It was a little busy, and before Tim had Jethro with him everywhere, they would have been really careful about making sure Tim could navigate his way through. This time, Tony watched as Tim's hand tightened on Jethro's leash.

"You all right in here?"

There was a long pause. Tony nudged Tim to get his attention. Tim jumped a little and looked at him.

"You all right?" Tony asked.

"I guess...we'll see, right?"

"Right." Tony smiled.

Tim was far from relaxed, but he urged Jethro forward. It was time to try it out. Tony forced himself to let Tim walk by himself. He went to get something for himself...keeping an eye on Tim as he walked through the food court. Jethro wasn't officially a service dog yet, but they'd got permission for Tim to take his dog with him anywhere on the Yard. Here, where there were so many sources of distraction for Tim, Jethro kept him from wandering, getting lost in the crowds. After a few minutes, Tony got his own food and then went over to where Tim was waiting in line.

"I picked the wrong line," Tim said after a long pause.

"We've got time."

Tim was tense, though. Tony could see it.

"You want me to get it for you?"

"No."

Tony kept himself from insisting and watched as Tim got to the front of the line, stammered out his order, paid and then got his food. He walked back to Tony, a white-knuckle grip on Jethro's leash.

"Okay. Let's get out of here."

"All right."

They left the food court together and, as soon as they got away from the chaos, Tim relaxed.

"Too many people, so much noise," he said softly. "It gets so confusing. I can't even tell where the sounds end. They just keep going until..."

"Until you fall off the edge of the earth," Tony finished, knowing that was probably how Tim would describe it.

Tim looked at him, searching for a joke and not finding it.

"Yeah."

"Where do you want to eat?"

"The park's fine."

"Okay."

They walked together to one of the benches in Willard Park. Jethro settled at Tim's feet and they both ate in an awkward silence.

"You don't have to do this, Tony," Tim said, after a few minutes.

Tony looked at him. He was fiddling with his fork, making strange shapes in his leftover soy sauce and rice.

"Do what?"

Tim looked up. "Pretend that you're okay with the way I am. I know you're not. We've talked about it before. You don't like it, even if it's better than when I was crazy."

Tony swallowed his mouthful of sandwich.

"It is better. Much better."

"But it's not good enough. Is it."

Tony took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"It's just...It's been so easy for Ellie to figure you out. She came in, met you, was awed and then, she was fine with it. I've known you for ten years and..."

"And you still want me to be how I was. That's the problem, Tony," Tim said. "Ellie doesn't have any expectations for how I should be. You do."

That same matter-of-fact presentation of uncomfortable facts. In a way, Tony envied Tim's ease. He didn't seem to worry about being embarrassed or anything. He just presented things the way they were.

"I know."

"But you also know that they're wrong," Tim said. "You know that I can't be that way, and so you feel guilty, but it's okay."

"No, it's not. I'm your friend and I should..."

Tim shook his head.

"Tony...I have the same expectations."

Tony furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..._I_ expect me to be the way I was. The problem is that I can't. I've tried, but I can't because I can't really remember _how_ I was. I remember what I did, but not...not the essence of why I did things. I just can't understand it, and sometimes, it's scary because I know that I'm different. I know that people are bothered by how different I am. I just have to...keep going because there's no other choice."

Tony was silent for a moment. He didn't know what to say to make it better.

"Is that why you told Ziva that song was about you?"

Tim furrowed his brow for a moment.

"Kansas?" Tony said.

"Oh. Maybe. It's the second verse that I thought of."

"What's the second verse?"

Tim closed his eyes and thought. Then, he spoke the words, very softly. He didn't sing them, but it almost didn't matter. Tony wanted to hear what Tim thought about himself, and if this song would explain it, he was all for listening.

"_Masquerading as a man with a reason  
__My charade is the event of the season  
__And if I claim to be a wise man,  
__Well, it surely means that I don't know_

_On a stormy sea of moving emotion  
__Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean  
__I set a course for winds of fortune,  
__But I hear the voices say_

_Carry on my wayward son  
__There'll be peace when you are done  
__Lay your weary head to rest  
__Don't you cry no more."_

Then, Tim opened his eyes again.

"That part."

"Why _that_ part?"

"I... When I go to therapy every week, what we talk about is not about getting shot or struggling with making my life work."

"What is it, then?" Tony asked, when Tim stopped and didn't keep talking.

Tim looked at him, very earnestly.

"It's reminding me that I'm still myself. That getting shot didn't create another person in the same body. Tony, sometimes, I still feel like I'm a stranger rattling around inside a body that everyone else recognizes. I don't always feel that way, but sometimes...and I can't explain the way I see things to anyone. I see patterns that...don't exist. I feel like things that are completely hidden from others are wide open."

Tony was almost mesmerized, listening to him and correlating what he was saying to the words of the song. Tim smiled a little and continued.

"And I'm lost sometimes...like in the food court. If Jethro hadn't been there to keep me grounded, I wouldn't have known where I was. I would have got lost. Lost in an open room. And I get lost inside myself if I'm not careful. Like when I get angry. I can't think. When I get scared, I can't think. And I have to think. If I don't, I don't know who I am. I don't know where I am. I don't know if I even exist. I _have_ to think, have to control that."

"Tim...I..."

"I'm not done," Tim said, cutting Tony off again. "There are times that I want to give up. I want to stop trying to make all this work. It's really hard living like this, Tony...and it'll never be easier. There's no guarantee that my brain won't break down some time in the future and I'll lose even more. There are scars on my brain. There's permanent damage in there." He rubbed at his scar. "Maybe it'll short circuit. I don't know. No one can. ...but I keep on going. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because of all this," Tim said, gesturing at the park, the Forge building behind them, the world in general. "Because of the life I have...and the _people_ in my life. That includes you, Tony, even though you have a hard time with it. I know you do, and I can't make it better. I've been wanting to try and explain everything to you. I've been thinking about it, thinking that maybe, if I explain it right, you won't try so hard. ...because...what I remember tells me that you don't like to try so hard. It feels as fake to you as my trying to be how I was feels to me. That's why I left DC before. I was going to be _me_ again, but I can't be the old me. I can only be the new me...and remind myself that it _is_ me. I said it before, when I first came back to DC. I don't want to lose my friends."

"You won't. I promise."

Tim smiled. "And I won't be who I was."

"No," Tony said. "You're still who you were. You're just different."

"Yeah...I'm different. That's why I agreed to move in with Ducky, even though I wanted to stay in my apartment. I don't want anything like that to happen again...and I don't want you to have to deal with it. Just thinking about it...terrifies me."

"It scares me, too," Tony admitted. "Seeing you in the hospital this last time..." He stopped, not wanting to put Tim back in that space.

Tim bent down and hugged Jethro, a sure sign that he was feeling upset.

"Hey, Tim..."

"It's okay," Tim said, keeping his voice soft. "I'm not falling off the earth." He took a deep breath and sat up again. "I'm okay."

Tony thought about what Tim had said, about how hard it was for him...and he also saw how well he was doing with the difficulty.

_I can't keep adding to it._

"Tim, if you can be patient with me..."

"I can."

"Let me finish," Tony said, with a bit of a smile.

Tim smiled in reply.

"If you can be patient with me, I'm really going to try to change my expectations. I can't guarantee that I'm going to be great at doing that, but I'll try."

"Good. I want to finish eating, now," Tim said...and then, he grinned, looking so much like his old self, that Tony smiled back and didn't feel like he was forcing it.

They both finished their lunches and headed inside. Tim went up to his office and Tony went back to his desk.

"How did it go?"

He looked up and there was Gibbs.

"Better than I thought. Not perfect."

"Never gonna be, you know," Gibbs said. "It can't be. That's why you take it as it comes, instead of expecting more."

"Yeah. I'm working on that."

"Good idea." Then, it was back to work. "Abby found something in the samples Ducky sent up from the Autopsy."

"On your six, Boss," Tony said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat down at his computer while Jethro ate his own lunch. For a long moment, he just stared at the blank computer screen, watching the swirling patterns in his vision. Then, he pulled out the gun he kept in his desk drawer. He looked at it, feeling the same twisting in his guts that he always did when he held a gun, and thought about what he'd told Tony.

Finally, he understood what he was trying to do with it, and he understood what his therapist had been trying to tell him.

He was trying to make himself like he was. It wasn't going to happen. He didn't like the gun being in there...so there was no reason to keep it there.

"I'm not keeping this, Jethro," he said. "I'm not going to make it harder for me. I want it to be easier."

Decision made, he left his office and went down to the bullpen. No one was there. So he got a piece of paper, wrote a note on it and left the note and the gun on Gibbs' desk. Then, he went back up to his little office, turned on his computer and started to work on a special cipher the Navy was setting up.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs didn't get back to his desk until much later in the day. When he did, Tony, Ziva and Ellie were all chatting about the case, and he saw the gun laying there. Confused, he walked over and picked it up. It wasn't his own gun.

Then, he saw the note.

"What's that, Boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs smiled and handed the note over to Tony.

"'Boss, I don't need this anymore, and I don't want it in my office. Would you take it back to storage? I'm okay with being me, now.'"

"How did that happen?" Ziva asked. "What was different about today?"

Gibbs looked at Tony and raised an eyebrow. Tony flushed.

"It wasn't me, Boss."

"That's the only thing that was different, Tony."

Ziva smiled.

"Whatever you did, Tony, good job."

"I didn't do anything except take him to get lunch."

"And you talked to him. Even if you don't know what you said, maybe it was just letting him say things, too," Ellie said. "Talking things out sometimes makes things make sense."

"Maybe."

Gibbs looked at the gun and smiled. Whatever the reason, he was glad that Tim had made the decision.

It looked as though things were getting better after all.


	24. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Six months later..._

Ducky heard the front door close. It was uncanny how punctual Tim was. If things were going well, Tim was out the door to walk Jethro at the same time every morning. There had been some bad mornings when the disorientation Tim still experienced took over. Those were mornings when Ducky was silently grateful that Tim had been willing to move in here.

As it was, today was a normal day. Tim was walking Jethro. That meant that Ducky had better get moving or else Tim would be impatient when he got back.

As he dressed for the day, Ducky thought about how things had changed since Tim's move. Tim himself seemed more settled. He had even used his typewriter a few times and started reading books (slowly because he didn't have the ability to focus on them as much). Jethro was officially Tim's psychiatric service dog, having passed his training with flying colors. With Tim relaxing more, everyone else seemed more at ease as well. It was as if Tim's problems, even when not consciously acknowledged, had added a layer of stress to everyone's lives. Knowing that there was someone who was available to help him if needed had eased that stress.

Ducky started down the stairs just as the front door opened again and Tim came back.

"Good morning, Timothy."

"Good morning, Ducky," Tim said.

"How are you doing?"

"Good."

That was always the question, and it was never an idle one. Ducky genuinely wanted to know, and Tim had always given him a real answer. There had been days when the answer was _bad_ or _weird_, and it had taken extra time to help Tim settle...but there were more good mornings than bad mornings.

"I'm going to shower."

"Any breakfast requests?"

"No."

"Very well."

Ducky went into the kitchen while Tim showered. They had decided to jump back and forth between what Ducky would prefer and what Tim would prefer. Today, in spite of Tim's lack of requests, it was his turn to get his preference. So, Ducky got his tea ready and put Tim's coffee on. Then, he got out a box of cereal and two bowls. There had been days when they ate breakfast separately, but, in general, they ate together.

Tim came in and smiled when he saw it.

They ate in companionable silence and then, Ducky drove them to NCIS.

"Enjoy your day," Ducky said.

"Thanks."

They went their separate ways.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"It is dinner time," Ziva said, getting to her feet and stretching.

"I'll go!" Ellie said, jumping to her feet.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Tim's been working on that coding for two weeks now. I want to see how far he's got."

"In that case, you absolutely can_not_ go," Tony said. "We'd never get to leave. You can quiz him on our way back. I'll go get him."

Tony got up and headed to Tim's office. He knocked.

There was no answer.

He opened the door. Tim was clearly absorbed in his work. As always.

"Hey, Jethro," Tony said. "Can you get him for me?"

Jethro stretched and got up. He yawned noisily and then padded over to Tim and nuzzled him until Tim pulled away from his work and reconnected with the world. Jethro continued to nuzzle and whuffle at him until he actually spoke to him.

"Hey, Jethro. What is it?"

"Dinnertime, Probie," Tony said.

Tim jumped a little and then turned and smiled at Tony.

"Hey, Tony."

"Time to eat, Probie."

Tim turned back, saved his work and turned off the computer. Then, he stood, Jethro by his side, and gave Tony a scrutinizing look.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Okay," Tony said.

They both went down and joined the others for dinner.

FINIS!


End file.
